


Two of Cups

by mokuyoubi



Series: Circus 'Verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Circus, Crossdressing, M/M, Magical Realism, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer and Ryan are part of Pete's travelling circus.  Jon and Brendon come for the show, but there's something about the place that keeps them coming back for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two of Cups

I.  
“I want to go to the carnival,” Jon said. Oh, that was all anyone at school had been talking about all week. Brendon wanted to go, too, but it was entirely out of the question. “After school, maybe?” Jon prompted in the silence.

“I can’t after school.” Brendon frowned and didn’t look at Jon. “I have Seminary after school, and if I skip, Sister Carter will ask my mother if I missed because I was sick, and then I’ll get in trouble with my parents _and_ I won’t get the prize for perfect attendance for this year.” 

Jon chose wisely not to comment. “After Seminary?” 

“I have Mutual.” 

“Mutual _what_?” Jon asked in vague wonder. 

Brendon blushed. He hated trying to explain these things to people outside of the church. They always thought he was weird. He’d only been in Las Vegas for a month, and already he’d been shunned by the majority of the school. The only people who even spoke to him were the other members of the church, but they were uptight and kind of mean, so Brendon didn’t spend a lot of time with them outside of Seminary and church. Only, Jon wasn’t Mormon, but he was really nice and even though he thought Mormons were weird, he didn’t treat Brendon any differently. 

“Why don’t you just skip it?” Jon asked, when Brendon didn’t answer. 

Jon’s family didn’t go to church, and most of the townspeople liked to think they were progressive to have their very own atheists, but Brendon’s parents forbade him from speaking to Jon. Still, talking to him was one thing—sneaking off to go to the carnival was another thing entirely, and skipping Mutual to go? The mere thought made Brendon’s heart flutter in panic. 

As if he could read Brendon’s thoughts, Jon shrugged. “We could go after. Bill and Mike say it gets even better at night.” 

Bill and Mike were Jon’s older brothers, and if possible, they were even cooler than Jon. They went to the gambling clubs, and played instruments and gambled and went out with girls who danced on the Pair-o-Dice stage. 

Brendon really, really wanted to go to the carnival. He’d been excited to move to Las Vegas, having heard all the stories about it. He knew his parents would be upset if they knew his enthusiasm wasn’t so much about spreading the word the prophet as it was about seeing the big city. 

And now there was a carnival, with gypsies and dancers and a snake tamer and the exotic fortune-teller, and Brendon wanted to see it so badly he could almost taste it. 

“I’m really not allowed,” was what Brendon said. 

“Do you ever do anything your parents don’t want you to do?” Jon didn’t sound mean when he asked it. He just sounded kinda awed, like he didn’t know someone like Brendon could exist, who obeyed every rule, all the time. 

Brendon was scandalised. His expression was enough of an answer, apparently, because Jon muttered something about Brendon being unbelievable under his breath. It was kinda strange and really neat that even though they’d only known each other a month, Jon seemed to know him really well. Brendon had never had a best friend before, but he thought maybe this was what it felt like. 

Jon looked disappointed, but he wasn’t the sort to pressure someone into doing something that made them uncomfortable. Only, maybe Brendon wanted to be pressured a little. 

“Well, Mutual is over at 8:30. And my parents are usually in bed by 9:30.” 

“Yeah?” Jon said. He was hesitant, like he didn’t know what to make of that, but there was a little smile tugging at his lips. 

“My room is at the other end of the house from them,” Brendon went on. 

Jon’s face lit up in a bright smile that Brendon was helpless but to answer with his own. “Ten sounds like the perfect time,” Jon said. 

The carnival was lit up like daylight when they arrived. The Ferris wheel was running and the merry-go-round was playing a lively tune and the games along the main strip were in full swing. The man taking admissions at the front gate gave Brendon a speculative look when he took his quarter and dime. He didn’t look much older than Brendon, but he was dressed in a red velvet jacket and a shiny black top hat and had a grin like a shark. “Enjoy,” he said. 

There were too many things to see. Brendon just stood there for a minute, trying to take it all in. Jon grabbed his sleeve and tugged him along. “Come on, let’s check out the Ten-in-One.” 

Apparently, the tent closed at eight, and after all the children were gone, it opened again at nine with new shows. Brendon peered around cautiously, but he didn’t see anyone from the church. Of course he was probably the only one who’d break the rules, but it didn’t make him any less paranoid. 

It cost another quarter to get inside, and it was crowded full of men and smelled like sweat and alcohol. Jon and Brendon pushed in and found a place to the side of the stage and toward the back. Brendon was so sick with nervousness he wasn’t even sure he could have fun. 

The announcer was a tall, slender man with a slick suit and an even slicker smile. When he spoke, his voice was velvety smooth and captivating. He breezed through the routines, somehow managing to create a sense of excitement despite his expression of barely reserved boredom. 

There was a skeletally thin man who twisted himself into improbable and painful looking knots. There were three men covered all over their arms, necks and torsos with colourful, intricate tattoos. There was a man who could bend steel and lifted a bench with the three tattooed men sitting on it. 

Brendon was plenty interested enough by all of this, but as the acts progressed (a bearded lady, a man who ate needles and nails, a woman with webbed hands and feet), the crowd became restless and began to mutter. 

“What is it?” Brendon muttered to Jon. 

“The blow-off,” Jon answered back, grinning wryly. Brendon didn’t know what that meant, but from Jon’s tone of voice, he could tell it was something of which his parents would definitely not approve. “The kootch dance.” 

Brendon felt his eyes go wide. And sure enough, before either of them could say another word, the mystic, who’d entertained the crowd by guessing what people had in their pockets, left the stage and the announcer knelt at the edge, a grin lighting up his face. 

“And now, gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…” Appreciative murmurs went through the crowd. “Please welcome the lovely Greta, the ravishing Victoria and the exotic Maja as they perform for you their burlesque…” He swept off the stage, a curtain lifted, and there they stood. 

Some of the girls at school like to wear skirts that showed off ankles and calves, and sometimes when he went into town there were women who wore sleeveless dresses. The desert of Nevada was hot, and no amount of prudery was going to compete with that. But this…

Greta was dressed the most conservatively in a pair of silk shorts and a matching camisole. Victoria had a black corset laced tight and a little skirt that barely maintained her modesty, and wore heels that made her legs look long and dangerous. Maja wore a plunging bustier and long, sheer pants that left little to the imagination. The announcer started up a record and as the sultry music began to play, the women began to dance. 

Brendon couldn’t look. It wasn’t that they weren’t beautiful, because…wow, they were. But it felt wrong, like he was taking advantage of them somehow. All the guys were catcalling and saying horrible things, demanding that the girls undress. 

He shot a look at Jon, who at least wasn’t shouting along with them, but he didn’t seem particularly upset by it. He didn’t even notice when Brendon slipped out the side of the tent into the fresh night air. 

On a stage off to the side there was a vaguely foreign looking man performing a writhing dance with a hissing cobra slung over his shoulders. Another man with hair bigger and curlier than Brendon had ever seen, swallowed fire and sprayed it the air, lighting the night up bright. 

Just beyond, tucked almost out of sight behind the Ten-in-One, was a tent more mended patchwork than the original canvas. There was a hand-painted sign propped outside, fancy cursive and winding roses with crimson letters and gold leafing around the edges, promising a glimpse at what the future held. 

Inside the open flap of the tent stood the fortune-teller. The girls inside the Ten-in-One had been beautiful, and all that bare skin was certainly meant to be tantalising, but they had nothing on _her_.

She had short, frosted blonde hair like something out of the thirties, sculpted into wild curls that framed her face and fell into her eyes. And her _eyes_. Certainly it was just because of the firelight, but they shone amber and were lined in thick kohl. And her mouth…it was glossy pink and full, and smirking at him like she knew something he didn’t. 

He couldn’t see her too well in the shadows, but then she stepped fully out of the tent. Layer after layer of skirt swirled around her bare feet, and he could see, then, when she dropped her crossed arms, that the lace-up top didn’t hide the gentle swell of a woman’s breast. 

The thin frame was without curves. 

Brendon blinked in surprise, or confusion, or both, he didn’t know, and he couldn’t help but stare. 

“Can we help you?” he— _he_ , Brendon couldn’t believe—asked. 

“The little boy looks lost,” said another man, who Brendon hadn’t noticed before, so enthralled had he been. He was crouched outside the tent with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. His greasy black hair obscured his features, but Brendon could see enough to think he looked a little scary. 

“What’s the matter?” the fortune-teller asked. 

“I just, the girls,” Brendon sputtered and gestured with his hands, only he didn’t even know what the gesture was supposed to convey. 

The fortune-teller’s smirk widened. “Not man enough to handle them?” 

Brendon wanted to be insulted, really, but the guy was right. Of course, his ego was still stung, because this was coming from a guy who looked his age and was wearing a dress and makeup. 

“I just don’t think it’s very nice to stare at them, like that, and shout all those horrible things.” 

“See, that’s _exactly_ what I’ve been saying all this time,” the guy with the cigarette said, and he sounded excited. He flipped back his hair and smiled at Brendon, and if it hadn’t been so creepy looking, Brendon might have smiled back. “We say we care about them, yet night after night we allow them to go out on that stage and bare themselves before a bunch of raunchy pigs. How can we just stand by and help perpetuate the semiotic subjugation of our lady friends?” 

“They’re getting paid for it,” the fortune-teller said, in a reasonable sort of way. 

“And what, precisely, does it say about our society that three such talented, intelligent young women such as they can’t find any other way to support themselves?” the man argued. 

“Jesus, Gerard. Are you going on about that shit again?” One of the tattooed guys from the show came from the line of sleeping tents in the back, towelling wet hair. “I think,” he drawled, “that you’re the one perpetuating the semiotic whatever-ever, myself.” 

Gerard’s jaw dropped and he took a deep breath like he was gearing up for another speech, but the tattoo guy cut him off. “I mean, you’re totally ignoring the fact that they like dancing. If you’re going to go on about equal rights and women’s suffrage and all that, you have to come to terms with the fact that it is totally their right to allow themselves to be objectified.” 

Gerard didn’t know what to make of that, and just sat there looking bewildered, mouth opening and closing. The fortune-teller laughed, and Brendon felt something in his stomach drop. His entire face lit up when he laughed, and Brendon could see the inside of his mouth, the rows of perfect, pearl like teeth. 

“I never thought I’d live to see the day Gerard was rendered speechless. Frank, I was wrong when I said we didn’t need another tattooed freak. I take it all back.” 

“Come on, Gerard,” Frank said. He tugged at Gerard’s arm and the man got to his feet, grumbling under his breath. “You said you’d show me that makeup thing for the next show.” 

The two of them ambled off together, Gerard babbling to Frank about misunderstanding the situation and his propensity for abusing false syllogisms. Frank seemed very amused about it all. 

“So,” the fortune-teller said. He put his hands on his hips and it drew Brendon’s attention to the fine arch of his back. “Have you come to have your future read to you?” 

“I…” Brendon’s sister always teased him about getting tongue-tied when he was nervous or excited. He forced himself to look away from the other boy and stared at his feet. His shoes were covered in dust. He was never going to get them clean. What if his mother noticed? “I’m really not allowed.” 

“Huh. But you are allowed to watch the burlesque?” Without looking, Brendon could see the mocking expression the tone indicated. 

“I didn’t watch them,” Brendon said, and felt his cheeks burning in shame and something else. 

“My cards are only dangerous when they tell the truth,” he said. His voice went soft and low when he said it. Brendon looked up, and when had that guy got so close? Now he could see the delicate, swirling patterns drawn in black around his eyes that made them even more exotic. “Are you afraid to hear what they have to say?” 

Brendon had broken so many rules tonight he didn’t even want to think about what would happen to him if his parents found out. But if had his future read, he’d be doing more than breaking his parents’ rules. Heresy was a big deal. He’d known two girls back in Ogden who’d had disciplinary actions taken against them for playing with a witch’s board. 

“I’ve got to go,” Brendon said, and hurried off to find Jon. 

II.

Somehow Jon had misplaced Brendon. He was tiny, sure, but he was also probably the most energetic person Jon had ever met in his life, and that meant he could usually pick Brendon out of a crowd pretty easily. Only in the past five minutes, Brendon had entirely disappeared without Jon noticing at all. 

The girls had just finished their second number and were still mostly clothed, but Jon knew what was coming. His brothers had been talking about it ever since the carnival came to town. Some of the clubs in Vegas had strip shows, but none of them ever got entirely naked, drawing the line at doffing their underwear. 

Apparently, the girls at the carnival had no such compunctions. Jon was, he had to admit, curious, but he was more worried about Brendon wandering around the carnival by himself. He had this horrible habit of believing the best of everyone and, that, mixed with his natural curiosity seemed like a bad combination when Jon thought about the barkers and gamers outside looking for a gullible mark. 

In the half-hour they’d been in the tent, the number of people at the fair seemed to have doubled. A large group was gathering outside waiting for the next show to begin, no doubt intrigued by the sounds they heard coming from within. Jon pushed through the crowd, glancing all around, but Brendon was nowhere to be seen. 

He wandered around the area, looking for something that might have caught Brendon’s attention. He’d mentioned wanting to go on some of the rides, but the Ferris wheel was occupied solely by young couples desirous of a few minutes alone together in the dark, and the merry-go-round had been shut down for the evening. 

Jon checked the food tent and all the loudest and most garish games, and following those he found himself outside the carnival proper. There were a bunch of roustabouts sitting around a fire and drinking, and they didn’t pay him any attention. 

He turned to head back, but his gaze caught on a sliver of light coming from the open flap of a tent just behind the Ten-in-One. There was a vision of pale skin out of the corner of his eye and he didn’t mean to look, really. It was one thing to watch girls who got paid to dance and take off their clothes, but something really different to spy on one in the privacy of her room, but, well, he just couldn’t help it. 

She was seated at a vanity, but it was angled so he couldn’t see her reflection, only her back turned to him. That was enough. She was wearing only small black panties trimmed in pink lace, like in the pictures his brothers had of girls from France. Her back was a bare expanse of creamy white skin, the line of her spine graceful and tantalising. Jon could almost taste it beneath his tongue, thought about tracing the freckles that sprinkled over her shoulders. 

And her hips…Jon thought that if maybe she’d been on stage, he would have paid a lot more to see it, and Brendon could just stay lost, because, _those hips_. 

He must have made a sound, or something, because she jumped and scrambled for the wrapper lying over the vanity top and pulled it around herself protectively. She looked over her shoulder at him, glaring fiercely, and Jon didn’t know someone could look so angry and inviting at the same time. Her eyes were the brightest blue he’d ever seen, and if looks could kill, he would be dead, but it would be so worth it. 

She didn’t say anything, but got up from the seat and he saw a flash of white thigh before the wrapper fell around her, draping to hide all that smooth skin and all those delicious curves. She stormed over to the tent flap and tugged it closed with a snap of canvas, and Jon fell desperately in love. 

“There you are!” Brendon said. He sounded relieved and out of breath. “Can we go?” 

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked. He tried to focus on the worried expression Brendon wore, rather than remembering the way her hair had fallen, shiny and smooth over her shoulder. 

“I just wanna go home,” Brendon said. He had his arms crossed over his stomach, like he did sometimes when the kids at school made fun of him for being Mormon, or when the Mormon kids lectured him about not being Mormon enough. Jon didn’t question it, pushed the girl to the back of his mind, and drove Brendon home. 

III.

Brendon couldn’t stop thinking about the fortune-teller. He had trouble sleeping, and when he finally did, he dreamt about him. He didn’t hear a thing that Matthew, Kara, and his mother said at breakfast and he showed up late to school because he was so caught up in his daydreams that he hadn’t paid any attention to where he was going and walked several blocks past the school building. He even got yelled at in English and threatened with a paddling in math class, and he usually was the very best student. 

Jon said to him at lunch, “you want to go back, don’t you” and Brendon said, wide-eyed and breathless, “yes.” 

He ate dinner in silence and his mother thought he was sick. She wasn’t far off. His stomach was twisted in so many knots he was worried that if he tried to eat anything it would come right back up. He did all his homework and waited for the house to go quiet and the lights to be put out. 

By the time ten came around, Brendon was beginning to doubt the wisdom of agreeing to go with Jon, when a tap came on his window. When Jon saw Brendon, he laughed. 

“What are you _wearing_?”

Brendon checked himself in the looking glass. He’d put on his Sunday clothing and slicked back his hair. If Jon asked why, he wouldn’t have an answer, only that he’d thought about the fortune-teller’s smirk, and nothing in his wardrobe seemed appropriate. 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“You know people don’t get dressed up to go to the carnival,” Jon said. 

“It’s all I had clean,” Brendon lied, but Jon didn’t call him on it, and Brendon was once again so, so thankful to have Jon as a friend. 

There were different shows going on, and some of the same. The announcer from the Ten-in-One was now dressed half as a man, half as a woman, and pulled it off surprisingly well. He was singing on the stage that had held the snake charmer the night before. The three tattooed men were playing instruments along to his singing, and Brendon thought it sounded rather nice, though he thought that he could sing it better. 

“Oh, hey,” Jon said, “I didn’t see that last night.” Brendon followed his line of sight and it was inevitable, really, Jon looking at the fortune-teller’s tent. “You wanna check it out? Could be fun.” 

Brendon really, really wanted to check it out. Maybe if he just went with Jon, and Jon had his fortune told, it wouldn’t be so bad. As long he didn’t get _his_ fortune read, he wasn’t really doing anything wrong, right? Even though he knew he was lying to himself, he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving, voicing his agreement. 

The boy was standing in the mouth of the tent again, and he watched Brendon as he and Jon approached the tent. He wasn’t wearing the same get-up as the night before, which was both a relief and disappointing. The line of the skirts had looked really nice on him, but they also made Brendon think horrible things. Tonight the guy was wearing nice slacks, a paisley button down shirt and a purple vest, and had a fancy shawl draped over his shoulders. 

“Welcome back,” he greeted. He had one hand on his hip and a deck of tarot cards in the other that he was managing to shuffle one handed. “Change your mind?” 

Brendon shook his head so hard it felt like he pulled something in his neck. Jon gave him that look he did whenever Brendon did a Mormon thing. “This is my friend, Jon Walker. He wants to have his fortune told.” 

The boy smiled. A real smile, not the smirk he’d had last night. It wasn’t any nicer than his smirk. “Nice to meet you, _Jon_ ,” He said. He extended a hand and Brendon was shocked to feel a surge of jealousy when Jon took it. 

“I’m, I’m Brendon,” Brendon said quickly, blushing. “Brendon Urie.” 

“Brendon,” the boy said, but he didn’t offer his hand. “Come inside, gentlemen.” He turned and went into the tent, holding up the flap for them to pass through. 

The space looked larger inside than from without. There was a small cot to the side covered in brightly coloured, sumptuous fabrics and a wardrobe stood open with more of the skirts like the one he’d worn last night, as well as several other outfits like the one he wore now. There was a pile of books by the bed and a guitar. In the centre of the space was a small round table covered in candles, and two chairs, one on either side. He took one and gestured for Jon to take the other. Brendon, nervous and feeling voyeuristic, stood in the shadows near the entrance. 

“What would you like to know?” the boy asked. 

Jon shrugged a little helplessly, like he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Brendon bit his tongue against the flood of questions he wanted to pose. The fortune-teller poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. 

“Precision is more difficult the more open ended your question.” Then he placed the deck in front of Jon. “Cut.” 

The cards were laid out in a T shape with a line of four cards alongside. He flipped them all and looked at them for a long time before his face lit up a little, like he had been reading a familiar book, only to find the ending had changed on him. He looked up at Jon with a little secretive smile tucked into the corner of his lips. 

“This card represents you,” he said, and tapped his nail against the card at the centre of the cross. Brendon wanted to edge forward to see better, but fear made him stand still. “This is a good omen. Positive energy, healing, happiness, contentment, self-acceptance and trust.” 

Brendon wasn’t going to say that the cards were real, or anything, but that certainly sounded like Jon. All the anxious, nervous energy he felt went dead around Jon, who just effused a sort of calmness, and he’d never seen Jon without a gentle smile on his face. 

The boy moved onto the next card. “This is your situation, Judgement. It is indicative of upheaval and great change, the arrival of a new current. You will be presented with an opportunity to not only change your situation, but to expand your horizons. It is blocked by the ten of disks, but this suggests that you have completed an important cycle and have come to the realisation that the accumulation of wealth is no longer a necessity for happiness. So it seems as though what would normally be blocking the situation is actually aiding your progress.” He looked amused and pleasantly surprised by this reading, though Jon himself didn’t look surprised, only contemplative. 

His brow furrowed at the next card as he studied it. “This…” he tapped his finger against the ace of disks, “these are the obvious influences in your life, need for monetary and material shelter and protection, only…” he shrugged, “only your crossing card suggests you are already moving beyond this, to the less obvious influences, those below the surface, the ace of wands—creative potential and self-realisation. Using this to come to the root of your natural ability while realising that you cannot blindly force you own desires upon others and upon reality.” 

Brendon didn’t think that Jon would ever be the sort to press his own desires on someone else. He wouldn’t have even made Brendon go to the carnival if he hadn’t wanted to. But Jon was nodding his head like it made sense. 

They went through the next few cards—the king of wands as Jon’s past influences of impulse, pride and resistance to change, and the Devil (Brendon had flinched when the boy said the word) as future influences of individuality, selfishness, obsession with personal desire. Brendon was growing nervous now. He liked Jon an awful lot, and didn’t like the sound of his future being ruled by the Devil. 

As if he sensed this, the boy stopped in his reading to look at Brendon. “This isn’t the Devil of your Christian mythology,” he said dismissively. “Nor is the Death card literal death. These cards are representative of archetypes, you see.” That was all he said for Brendon, returning his attention to the cards. 

“The five of swords is how your current mental place. You are too passive about your own fate. You have allowed yourself to become a victim.” 

Then he smiled, fast and bright, and looked at Brendon again, “you’re an Aries, aren’t you?” Brendon shook his head uncertainly. “When’s your birthday?” 

“Um, April. April twelfth,” Brendon said. He looked at Jon, who shrugged at him. 

“Yes,” the boy said. “Aries. This,” he said, to Jon, indicating the queen of wands, “Is how others perceive you. You are steadfast, wilful, but balanced. Reliable, but strong enough to be independent.” He flicked his gaze at Brendon then back to Jon. “You should trust those close to you.” 

“This place is usually representative of one’s fears, but you, Jon Walker, you are too positive a person for fears, hmm? These can only be your hopes, I suppose. There is creative collaboration, cooperation, and learning to rely on others. Letting someone else share your burdens a while. Which brings us the final card. This is where you will end, if you continue on your current path, and of course, you have the ability to change it. Though,” he gave Jon a sly smile, “I’m not sure why you would want to.” 

“Oh,” Jon challenged, smiling back. Brendon didn’t like all this smiling, like they knew something he didn’t, like they knew _each other_ , and had for a long time. 

“Well, let’s just say it is far more positive a reading than I have given in a long time. There is a new relationship, or perhaps multiple relationships, with openness, listening and mutual learning. You will be exposed to new and diverse ideas and be able to partake of them without prejudice.” He gave Brendon another quick glance. Brendon wished he knew what it meant. 

Brendon wanted to just dismiss it all as a game, say it wasn’t real. But if that was true, why did the church forbid it? The fortune-teller wore a playful, knowing smile, like he saw the whole future lain out before him, but only provided teasing glimpses for others. Brendon wanted so much to know what his cards held. 

“So, altogether,” Jon said slowly. 

“Ah,” the boy said, and nodded. “Altogether. Well, all these trump cards,” his fingers danced over the cards, “These are people in your life. The placement and readings seem to indicate they are mostly new to you, but very important. One in particular. They all have something to offer, and these things will all bring you to this place,” he indicated the ending card, “only if you let them.” 

Jon was pleased with the reading and tipped extra. “Thank-you” the boy said, with a dangerous smile. “You should visit the yellow tent near the elephant ride. The show promises to be quite entertaining this evening, and I don’t think your friend has the stomach for another trip to the Ten-in-One.” He and Jon shared an amused expression that made Brendon bristle. He wished that Gerard guy was around to defend him. 

“Thanks,” Jon said, and hesitated before he stood. “One of those cards you?” 

The boy’s eyes were mysterious in the gloom of the tent, and he didn’t give an answer directly. “Should one of them be?” He and Jon looked at each other so long Brendon felt like he was intruding on something and he both wanted to leave them to it and step between them all at the same time. 

Then Jon smiled and the fortune-teller nodded graciously and Jon left the tent. Brendon moved to follow, going slow, wanting to be stopped. He wasn’t let down. “If you should change your mind,” the boy murmured. The invitation was left unfinished and open. 

Brendon had to ask, because it had been bothering him since they’d first met. “What’s your name?” 

The answering bemused expression said it wasn’t a question he was often asked. “I’m Ryan,” he said. 

“Ryan,” Brendon breathed, and he hadn’t meant to say it like that, knew it was wrong by the way Ryan’s eyes went wide. 

“Brendon,” Jon called, and thankful for the excuse, Brendon scurried out with a wave of goodbye over his shoulder. 

It turned out the yellow tent was just behind where the snake tamer had performed, and where there now was a band. A group was waiting to be let in for the next show, and Brendon took the opportunity to ask Jon about the reading. “Do you believe that stuff?” he asked. 

Jon had the same easy expression he always had, a relaxed grin on his face. “I don’t know. He seemed to know what he was talking about.” He put a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about my eternal soul, Brendon,” he said, and his voice was mocking, but in a nice way. 

Brendon’s shoulders slumped. “I’m more worried about my own right now,” he admitted. 

“Hey,” Jon said, and let his hand slid up Brendon’s neck, around his back, til he was kinda holding him with one arm. “Hey, listen, Brendon, I’m not going to tell you what you should believe, or anything, but you’re just about the nicest, most selfless person I’ve ever met. And if your god would damn you just for doing something that makes you happy, and doesn’t hurt anyone, then, well, sounds like the kind of god I’m glad I don’t believe in.” 

It shouldn’t have made Brendon feel happy, to hear someone talk like that about God, but he couldn’t help it. It was _Jon_. He leaned his head on Jon’s arm and smiled. “Well, Ryan was definitely right about you, anyway.” 

“Ryan,” Jon repeated. 

“Ryan, the fortune-teller,” Brendon explained, and pulled out of Jon’s embrace. “What he said about you. It was right.” 

Jon gave him a look. “Maybe you should have Ryan read your fortune,” he suggested. Brendon was saved from having to explain his reticence by the flap of the tent opening. The crowd began to file in and Brendon felt through his pockets for the correct change to get in. 

IV.

It was the girl from the night before, and Jon could only stare unabashedly. She was dressed in a costume that brought to mind a harem girl, but more modest, in loose, flowing trousers and a knotted vest over a tight shirt, all in shades of rose and gold. It made it difficult to see her figure very clearly, but she looked elegant and regal. Her hair fell in shiny soft waves around her face, in her eyes. He wanted to run his hands through it, push it back to see that vibrant blue again. 

She swept onto the stage like she owned it. In either hand she held a sword. The music started and she began a dance, twirling the swords deftly around her. They sung in the air, but even as quickly as she moved, as close as she kept the swords to her body and each other, there was never the sound of steel on steel, nor any torn flesh. She ended to thunderous applause. 

“Wow,” Brendon said, “she’s…wow.” He was staring at her like he’d never seen a girl before. Jon nodded in dumb agreement. 

“Come on, let’s get closer,” Jon urged. Brendon let Jon drag him through the crowd ‘til they were pressed close to the stage. 

A new song began to play and her hips swung in time to the tempo. He remembered with a start the white skin against delicate lace, imagined his hands on her, pulling close and tight, putting to use all the advice his brothers had given him about women. 

Suddenly, she stumbled a little and her fierce glare fell on Jon. A blush spread high and fast over her cheeks. She looked away quickly, but the expression and redness lingered. Then, leaning back slightly, she tipped her head, opened her jaw, and lifted the narrower of the swords high above her head. 

Brendon stopped breathing beside him and grabbed his arms. “She’s not,” he said, but before he could finish, she’d begun sliding the sword down her throat. “Oh my god!” Brendon sounded horrified. Jon wanted to echo the sentiment, but not out of horror. There was something very erotic about watching the length of the sword disappear past her lips. 

The crowd hooted and cheered and egged her on, and soon enough, the hilt of the sword rested against her lips and she lifted the other sword. “I can’t watch,” Brendon moaned, and put his face into Jon’s shoulder. 

After the show, the crowd left for bigger and better things (the kootch show at the Ten-in-One, no doubt), but Jon didn’t fight to beat the crush for the door. Instead, he grabbed Brendon’s wrist, making him stay by the stage. The dancer was just off-stage, wiping the blades down with a rag and oil before wrapping them and storing them. Jon liked watching it. She made even something so mundane look elegant. He thought about what his fortune had told him, and hoped it had something to do with her. He couldn’t stop looking. 

Brendon looked at her, then at Jon, and seemed to come to some sort of a decision. He wrenched his wrist free and went over to the side of the stage and said, “Hey, that show was really awesome.” 

The girl blinked and flipped her hair out of her eyes. She looked at Brendon like he was speaking a foreign language, then glanced at Jon. She looked back down at her swords. “Thanks.” Her voice was low and soft, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t watch when you added the second sword. Don’t you ever get scared you’re going to hurt yourself? How long have you been doing? Did you have to train forever? Can you do more than two swords?” Brendon asked it all with his normal wide-eyed enthusiasm, but Jon knew him pretty well, even after only a few weeks, and there was something strange about it. 

For a long moment she stared at him in wonder. “Um. It doesn’t hurt if you do it right,” she said, like she didn’t know where to begin with the questions she’d been asked. 

“Oh, but, how do you do it?” 

“You have to…” She stopped and squinted at him. “You know, most people don’t want to know how it works.” 

Brendon’s shoulders fell a little. “Well, yeah. I just…I’ve never seen anything like this place. Last night, there was this guy who could stand on his head. Like, with his feet! And this other guy had all these really poisonous snakes and he was just dancing with them, like he wasn’t scared at all. And Jon just had his fortune read by Ryan, and I don’t really believe in that stuff, but it seemed really good. So…” Brendon trailed off and shrugged. “So, I just want to know more.” 

“You had your fortune read?” she asked. She didn’t look at Jon directly, just in his general direction. She was blushing again. 

“Yeah, it was…it was neat,” Jon agreed. 

“Ryan is very good at what he does,” she agreed. 

“So are you,” Jon said. 

Brendon smiled at Jon where the girl couldn’t see it. “I’m just gonna go check out the candy booth,” he said to the air, and slipped out. 

Jon really, really loved Brendon. A lot. He slid closer along the stage as she focused hard on her swords. “I wanted to say I was sorry about last night,” he started. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bring that up. Like, maybe it had been dark enough she didn’t recognise him, and anyway, she was talking to him instead of shouting at him, so maybe that was a start, but still, he didn’t feel right not apologising. 

“You certainly aren’t the only man to come from the Ten-in-One expecting something more,” she said coolly. “But we aren’t that kind of circus. Pete doesn’t mind the girls getting a little extra work on the side, but generally the performers aren’t interested.” Jon got the point. 

“I’m…I didn’t mean it like that, honestly. I was,” he sighed and rubbed his chin. “I was looking for my friend, and I didn’t mean to end up back there, and I’m sorry, it’s just,” _do you know you have the most amazing hips I’ve ever seen_ is what he didn’t say. “I didn’t mean to look. But I’m not sad I did.” 

She stopped polishing the sword and her hand tightened on the hilt. She had nice hands, too, long and delicate and soft looking, but he could see the callus on her thumb from where she handled the swords. He imagined them on his skin, the slight catch of hardened skin. She cleared her throat. 

“Well, _I’m so pleased_ to have provided you with the free show, but…” She stood and swung the sword experimentally, maybe to show him what she could do. It looked fancy and had the potential to cause a fair amount of damage. Jon wasn’t so much scared as turned on. “I have other, actual paying performances for which to prepare, so please excuse me.” She bent and gathered her other swords and stormed off the stage. 

Jon found Brendon just outside the tent with a piece of cotton candy bigger than his head and a matching grin. He didn’t say anything, just waited for Jon. “I’m working on it,” Jon said with confidence. 

V.

“You read a guy’s cards tonight?” Spencer asked, sitting down heavily on his cot. 

Ryan hummed tiredly. He was lying on his side facing away. “Read lots of guys’ cards tonight,” he said. There was something playful in his voice. He rolled over to look at Spencer. “Why?” 

Spencer glared at him. “There’s this guy. Who thinks I’m a _girl_.” 

Ryan laughed, rolling around a little. “Oh, it’s even better than I thought.” 

“So you told him something?” Spencer prompted. 

“I just told him what the cards told me,” Ryan said, in that infuriating way he had, when he talked about his craft. Spencer knew him pretty well though, and he dug his knuckles painfully into Ryan’s side. “Ow, ouch,” Ryan cried, and punched him in the arm. “I didn’t say anything specifically. But I can’t help what I saw.” He shrugged. 

“Play with other people all you want, Ross, but leave me out of it,” Spencer told him in a dangerous voice. Ryan didn’t read Spencer’s cards. He didn’t really need to, just like Spencer didn’t need to listen to Ryan’s thoughts. They knew one another well enough without. He didn’t like the idea of Ryan seeing him in someone else’s cards. 

“I liked him,” Ryan said speculatively. His laughing had mostly subsided and he scooted closer to Spencer. Spencer relaxed and lay down, staring hard at the ceiling. “What’s wrong with him?” 

“He was spying on me last night. And he thinks _I’m a girl_ ,” Spencer said fiercely. That set Ryan off again. Spencer sighed. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t the first guy who’d tried to get into Spencer’s pants, but he was the first one who’d managed to get past his mental barriers and, well…so Spencer might have liked what he’d seen, when he’d caught the glimpses of what Jon had wanted to do with him. Right up to the point where it involved a vagina. He scowled and pushed his face into Ryan’s neck.

Ryan rolled over and put his arm around Spencer’s waist, still laughing a little. “He has a very open mind,” he said reasonably. 

“Don’t you have your own tent?” Spencer grumbled. He didn’t want to think about that guy anymore. It didn’t matter that he had a stupid smile or nice hair, or that the mind behind those dirty thoughts actually seemed like a mind Spencer wouldn’t mind getting to know. What mattered was that he thought Spencer was a girl, and there was a difference between being open minded and readily dropping all sorts of social and psychological preconceptions about gender and sexuality when he realised that Spencer was very much not a girl. 

“I like yours better,” Ryan said, nose scrunched up. “Yours comes with a Spencer.” Spencer didn’t put up a fight. His bed was a lot bigger, and besides, Ryan invaded enough that he knew it was no use. Ryan usually got his way when it came to Spencer. 

“Did you meet his friend?” Ryan asked, when Spencer said nothing. 

“You mean the little one with the huge eyes who talks a mile a minute?” Spencer asked, remembering the baffled helplessness he’d felt as he’d been bombarded with questions. 

Ryan nodded. “Sounds right. What’d you think?” 

“A fucking mess,” Spencer said honestly. 

“So you looked?” Ryan prompted. He sounded hesitant so Spencer looked at him. He was toying with some loose fringe at the edge of the blanket, a gesture of nervousness. Interesting. Not for the first time in their friendship, or even the first time that day, Spencer was tempted to look inside Ryan, but he held it in check. He didn’t do it to people he cared about. Hell, he didn’t do it to most people, period. 

“I couldn’t help it, he…” Spencer shook his head, and he still couldn’t figure it out. “He just. He put it all out there, I didn’t even have to try, just open up a little, and there it all was. Didn’t you see it in your cards?” 

Ryan shifted, rolled away again to face the wall. “He didn’t want them read. Or, well, he did, but he wouldn’t let me read them.” He sighed. “I don’t get it.” 

But he wanted to read them, Spencer could tell. Usually Ryan didn’t care. He did it for his job, because it was what he could do, and when their friends asked, he was happy to oblige. But Ryan didn’t usually _want_ for a person, in particular, to have their cards read. It meant he wanted to know about this guy. And that was interesting. 

Spencer turned down the lamp until the flame went out and then settled down under the blankets. It had been warm a few hours ago, but with the sun gone, the heat had vanished and the desert was cold. Spencer had been used to it, years ago before he and Ryan had left with the circus and he’d been prepared, taking extra blankets and sheets from his chest. Ryan had brought his own blanket along too, and Spencer was thankful for the press of Ryan’s body to his and the heat that grew between them. He tried to think about that, and Ryan’s problems rather than the guy—Jon, with soft brown eyes and the image of lips against skin—and his own problems. It didn’t really work. 

VI.

Jon’s dad owned an automobile and electronics store in town called Walker and Sons. Jon explained that was because the original had been called Walker and Sons, and had originally been run by his grandpa but was now owned by his uncle, and that was the reason he didn’t live in Chicago anymore. He didn’t know why his parents had picked Nevada, and he’d never asked. Besides, he liked it here. 

Sometimes, when Jon didn’t have a lot of schoolwork to do, he worked at Walker and Sons during the afternoons and on weekends. Both his brothers had gone to work for their father after finishing high school, but Jon confided in Brendon that as much as he liked having some spending money, he had no intention of staying after he got his diploma. 

“Small potatoes, man,” he said, though when Brendon asked what Jon did want to do, Jon would just shrug. That was pretty much how Brendon felt, too. Of course he was expected to go on his mission straight out of school, but after that? Marriage, of course, and children, but how would he support his family? 

Jon’s dad was sympathetic to Brendon’s Mormon plight and didn’t even mind when Jon blew off customers to hang out with Brendon in the back room. Brendon got, like, the best grades in school, and he never missed Seminary, so his parents didn’t give him a hard time if he didn’t come straight home every day. In fact, they probably didn’t notice, too busy fawning over Matthew’s accomplishments, or working on making sure Kara got married off to someone nice. 

So sometimes, on weekends, even though it was forbidden, Brendon did his homework at Walker and Sons and then Jon’s dad and brothers would take them out to dinner and shakes at the diner on the corner. 

Tonight Mike and Bill had dates, and Jon’s dad was kept late with paperwork, but he gave them a few dollars from the safe and told them to have fun. Brendon liked the diner because it was safe. All the cool kids who made fun of him preferred the drive in and the diner closer to it, across town. All the Mormon kids never went out on dates, and when they went out as groups it was usually to do something really boring, and never in a place that played rock and roll music on the jukebox. So the only people that came to this diner were the families, which meant no one bothered Brendon. 

They sat in a booth in the corner, well out of sight of the street, and ordered their favourites, and Jon got up and put some change in the jukebox. Brendon hadn’t known a lot about music before he met Jon. He still didn’t, but he was learning. Jon even said that over Christmas break he’d starting teaching Brendon on his guitar. Sometimes Jon would take extra long when he gave Brendon a drive home so they could listen to the radio. 

The new Chuck Berry song started up and for a minute Brendon just listened to the music, closing his eyes and breathing it in. He hadn’t known what he’d been missing until Jon had played the first Chuck Berry song for him, and then Johnny Cash, and then followed it up with the Big Bopper and Brendon had pretty much been sold on the first note, but he didn’t want Jon to stop. 

“I think I’m not sure I believe in God,” Brendon said, under the cover of the guitar solo. He expected wide eyes, maybe a little choking and protestations, but of course, this was Jon. 

Jon blinked and looked up from where he was sipping his shake. After a minute he leaned back in his seat. “Huh.” 

“Yeah,” Brendon agreed. He wanted to get frosted over it all, but Jon was so calm about he, he couldn’t muster the energy. “My parents and everyone at church keep talking about my mission and, well, at first I was excited, you know? Its like a rite of passage, like, suddenly I’m an adult when I go on my mission. Only then I started thinking about what I would tell other people, how I’d explain my faith, you know, so that they’d want to share it, and I…I was just embarrassed about it.” 

Brendon really wanted Jon to say something, like he understood, but Jon hadn’t ever believed in God in the first place. “What are you going to tell your parents?” he asked. 

Brendon shrugged uncomfortably. “I hadn’t gotten as far as telling them in my mind,” he admitted. “I can’t even sneak out to the carnival without feeling really guilty. How can I tell them I’m having a crisis of faith? And besides, it isn’t like I could just stop going to church, or something. That isn’t how it works.” He didn’t feel like going into explanations about the registry and disciplinary actions, and potentially being sent away to a special hospital to get fixed. 

“The thing is, I’m not sure, really. I mean, I get angry listening about the word of the prophet, and I wonder how can anyone believe it, and I think the rules are so stupid, and how am I supposed to believe in something I can’t see? But then, when I’m in bed, I can’t stop saying my prayers, and thinking about how much trouble I’m going to be in for thinking what I do, how I’m never going to be worthy of the celestial kingdom, and…”

Jon just looked at him with that soft, open, understanding expression. Brendon couldn’t help but go on. “And the other night, I was…I believed what Ryan told you, and I wanted so badly to have him read my cards, too. I wanted to know all about them. I looked in the library the other day, but there wasn’t anything on them.” He would have gone on, but the waitress came over with their food and he fell into silence until she left. 

“If your parents totally flip out, you know my ma and pop will take you in,” Jon told him casually, like it wasn’t anything. Brendon blushed and focused on his food so he wouldn’t make a fool out of himself by blubbering all over Jon. 

The bell above the door rang and Brendon just looked up for something to do other than look at Jon, and there were several of the carnies, including Ryan, and the girl Jon had his eye on. 

“Jon,” he hissed, and Jon looked over, and then his eyes did go comically wide. Brendon couldn’t laugh. He was too busy looking at Ryan, who was wearing tight blue jeans and a tight tank top, kinda like the greasers, only it looked really nice on Ryan, who was skinnier even than Brendon, but with wiry muscles. 

Ryan, as if sensing the attention, looked over at them and his eyes lit up when the fell on Brendon. He leaned into the girl and whispered something before sauntering towards them. His hips swayed more than most of the girls at school, and Brendon was mesmerized. That was the part he couldn’t say to Jon, because no matter how understanding Jon was, he couldn’t explain this. 

“Jon,” he said first, though his gaze was fixed on Brendon, “Brendon,” he added, more slowly. “We keep running into each other.” 

Brendon didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react that that smooth voice, layered with suggestion, and he was saved by Gerard, who came ambling up to them with his arm over Greta’s shoulder. Gerard’s hair looked cleaner and he was dressed casually, and Greta was all covered up and wholesome looking in a plain black and white dress with capped sleeves and a skirt that came past her knees. She didn’t look anything at all like a girl who took off her clothes for a living. “This,” Gerard said excitedly, “is the guy I was telling you about.” 

Greta and Ryan both rolled their eyes. “Brendon,” Ryan supplied. 

Gerard, apparently, didn’t have any decent social skills, because he slid into the booth next to Jon without invitation or warning. “Brendon,” he said, and looked at Jon. “Jon,” Jon supplied. 

“Gerard.” Gerard smiled and nodded in greeting, and then addressed Brendon, “you should tell Greta what you said the other night.” 

Greta sighed and put a hand on her hip. “Lay off it, Gee,” Frank said. He and the rest of the carnies seemed to take their cue from Ryan and were claiming the tables and booths around Jon and Brendon. 

“What’d you say the other night?” Jon asked Brendon. 

Most of the new arrivals were chatting amongst themselves or looking through the menu, but a few of them were watching Brendon curiously for the answer. He flushed at all the attention. “I just…I didn’t think…” he trailed off and stared at the tabletop. “I didn’t think it was right, the way all the guys were behaving at the kootch show.” 

“Oooh,” cried a voice, and Brendon looked to see it was the announcer. He bumped his shoulder into the snake charmer and the two of them shared a grin. Brendon didn’t know what to make of that. 

“Don’t pay any attention to them,” Gerard said dismissively. “They’re just bitter that no one will pay _them_ to take of their clothes.” He smirked at them and they made some rather obscene gestures in return. 

Ryan grimaced and said, “don’t make me sit next to them,” to Brendon, and their table was the only one not full. Brendon tried not to smile and scooted over enough for both Ryan and the girl to have a seat. 

VII.

So, Jon wasn’t expecting a bunch of circus folk to be boring, but he’d never have imagined they were so cool, either. Gerard made a comment about one of the songs Jon had played on the jukebox, and then the two of them, along with Frank, the tattooed guy (well, one of them), and Pete, the owner of the circus, spent the next hour talking non-stop. First it was about different artists they liked, and songs and records and stuff, but then they started talking about their own music. 

Every once in a while Jon looked over at _her_ , and she was just watching them—Brendon and Ryan had got drawn into a conversation with William and Gabriel, and despite Ryan’s protestations that they were awful, they seemed to be getting along pretty well. All the other tables were full of lively chatter, and surely she could have moved, or whatever, but she just sat there and watched, and okay, Jon found it a little bit of a turn on. 

She was dressed in the toreador pants that were so popular with the Teddy Boys’ girlfriends. There were tight and showed off her nice calves and accentuated the curve of her hips. She had a button up sweater on over a tight camisole, like it wasn’t ridiculously hot outside, which gave a hint at her figure, but still left a lot to the imagination. 

Jon could tell she didn’t have a lot up front like the kootch girls, but he didn’t even remotely care. She had a twist to her lips like she wanted to look angry but couldn’t quite pull it off, and her _hips_. Jon could go on about those hips. And he liked girls who thought they were better than him. They were usually right, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. 

“Don’t you have a show tonight?” Jon asked, when most of the rest of the customers had left and the waitress was giving them pointed looks. 

Pete waved a dismissive hand. “There are a lot of us,” he said, and grinned. 

“Pete attracts the social rejects,” Frank explained. He put an arm around Pete’s shoulder. Pete smiled, like the words didn’t even remotely sting. Jon thought these people were, quite possibly, even cooler than his brothers. By a lot. 

“We take turns,” Gerard explained, pushing back his hair for the hundredth time. “We mostly share what we make, anyway, but we take turns.” 

“That’s cool,” Jon said, and he knew he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t know what it was. _Please let me come with you_ , maybe, but less desperate and awkward. 

Pete narrowed his eyes at Jon. “Your friend, is he cool?” He jerked his head in Brendon’s direction. Brendon was staring at Ryan like he’d hung the moon, and Ryan and William were bickering loudly over something. Pete’s eyes went soft, like his question had already been answered, but Jon said, “yeah,” anyway. 

Pete looked at Patrick, who’d been setting across the booth from him the whole night and had barely said a word, but watched Pete a lot like the girl was watching Jon, and that was…well…huh, interesting. Patrick gave a little nod of his head and Pete turned back to Jon. “Wanna see something _really_ neat?” Pete asked, and his words made something in Jon’s spine thrill. 

Brendon and Ryan had stopped talking and were watching them. “Really?” Ryan asked. There was this series of looks, between Ryan and Pete, Ryan and the girl, Pete and Patrick, and then the girl shrugged and looked uneasily at Jon. 

“Oh, really,” Pete said intensely. 

Brendon almost bounced in his seat. “Are we doing something?” Jon tried to feel bad that Brendon had gone from religious crisis a couple of hours ago to eager to break the rules, but he looked _so much happier_. 

“Show us something really neat,” Jon said. 

VIII.

The blue tent behind the animal pavilion was _huge_. Brendon had thought he’d seen big when he’d seen the Ten-in-One, but this…this. There was a big guy standing in front, and he’d looked really scary when Brendon first approached him, but then Pete had said Brendon was okay and Zack had smiled and introduced himself warmly and gestured Brendon in with a wave. And…

Okay, so, Brendon had maybe never been to a circus before, but even so, he was pretty sure this wasn’t normal. The inside of the tent was like nothing he’d ever imagined, but if he’d imagined it, he would have thought it was something you found inside a really nice club, not in a piece of canvas pitched five days ago in the middle of the Nevada desert. 

The sand wasn’t even visible under the many-layered, over-lapping rugs. There were oversized sofas and cushions and chairs all throughout the tent and along one side was a bar, glossy and rimmed in gold like you saw in the old-west pictures, and there was a bartender who managed to shake and toss and flip the drinks without breaking a glass or spilling a drop. 

There was a big stage in the centre of the room and there had been a few people messing around when they’d come in, but then Gabriel, Victoria, Pete and the sword swallowing girl, whose name he really needed to learn, took over. He was impressed to see her taking the drum set, while Victoria swept her skirt up and sat at the piano and Pete took one of the guitars and Brendon had maybe watched a few rock and roll performances on the dingy little television in the break room at Walker and Son but this was so. Much. Awesomer. 

Brendon looked over at Jon who seemed torn between staring at the drumming and focusing on Pete, and in general, looking like Christmas had come early. Someone bumped him on the hip and he looked over to see Ryan looking at him from under the fringe of his frosted bangs. “Pete and I wrote this one together,” he said, and Brendon had already liked it, but that made him pay more attention. 

People were dancing all around, and before Brendon could tell Ryan how much he liked it, William swept by and caught Brendon’s wrist and Ryan was pulled away by the creepy guy who looked a lot like Gerard except with blond hair and glasses and Brendon opened his mouth to protest, but William put a finger to his lips. 

“Brendon, Brendon. Brendon, you don’t like watching the _girls_?” William asked. He had this way of looking. Brendon had only known him a few hours, but he already knew the look, because it was the only one he’d seen on William—this look like he knew everything in the world ever, and thought it was hilarious, but he was too cool to laugh. Brendon kinda wanted to ask William to teach it to him. 

“Um,” Brendon didn’t know how to explain without bringing morality into it, and well, that never went over well. Everyone here was really nice and fun and Ryan was just, _the most_. Say the word ‘Mormon’ and it was all over, he was sure. He could already hear the jokes about how many moms he had. 

William waved a hand. “Bob,” he said, now that he had Brendon up against the bar. “My friend Brendon needs a drink.” 

“Oh, oh, no,” Brendon said, and held up his hands. “I don’t, really. I don’t need a drink.” 

William narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you drink, Brendon?” 

“Oh, I, I drink,” Brendon lied. “Um, just…I don’t really have any money, and, er, I have chores to do tomorrow.” He might be okay if God was real and struck him down for all his horrible, horrible sinning right now so he didn’t have to talk any more or see the look on William’s face. 

Bob said, “leave him the hell alone,” to William, and Brendon straightened his shoulders. Bob looked really tough, with his hair sculpted in sharp spikes over his forehead and a piece of jewellery through his _lip_. But he smiled even nicer than Jon, and Brendon figured that between him and Frank and Gerard and Pete, he was going to have to change his stereotypes quick. 

“A drink’s okay, I guess,” Brendon said, then added hastily, “one!” 

William gave him a smile that looked like victory and Bob mixed him something that didn’t taste like all his worst fears confirmed. It was sweet and pink coloured and had the flavour of Christmas trees. 

Everyone was _so nice_ and Pete asked Jon if he wanted to play and Brendon just sat on one of the really comfortable chairs by the stage and watched. William kept bringing him drinks and he didn’t see why everyone made a big deal about it, because it tasted like candy and whatever. 

Jon played around with Pete and the others for a while, and then Gerard got up with Bob, Ryan and the strange guy who’d dragged him off, who Brendon decided maybe wasn’t strange at all—he’d have to wait until he’d properly met him, first. 

Ryan was just—was everyone here just amazing at everything? Ryan said he’d helped write that one song, and Gerard said before another song that Ryan had written it, and Ryan was playing the guitar and just. Jon was still probably, maybe the hippest person Brendon had ever met, but, well, it was getting really close. 

When Ryan found them after, he glared at William and Brendon didn’t know why, but it was funny and he couldn’t stop laughing. He couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard. Pete interrupted whatever violence may have been about to happen, because as small as he was, Ryan looked like he might be about to start throwing punches at William. 

“Brendon, you play?” Pete asked, and handed Brendon a guitar. He had another one held in his left hand. 

Brendon tried to stop laughing, because no, he didn’t, but he really wanted to learn how. He took a deep breath and very pointedly didn’t look at Ryan and tried to focus on Pete. Still, he felt strangely disconnected from everything around him. “Jon said he’d teach me, but I don’t have a lot of free time. I play piano.” 

“Well, that’s a start,” Pete said. “Here.” Brendon took the guitar and held it like he’d seen it held. Pete took a seat across from him and took a similar grip on his guitar. Brendon mimicked the positioning of his fingers. 

Pete took him through the scale, and it was weird at first. The strings were simultaneously slippery and roughly textured under his fingers and he had to twist his fingers in weird ways to make the right sound sometimes. 

Ryan reached over a couple of times and Brendon noticed how long and nice his hands were, delicate, but with calluses from these strings Brendon was for the first time touching. Ryan positioned Brendon’s fingers for him and put his other hand around Brendon’s other wrist, drew his hand over the strings to coax out a note. 

But then, and Brendon wasn’t sure how much time had passed, because it seemed to go both quickly and slowly, then Brendon understood. It clicked, just like the piano had, how at a certain point he had realised he didn’t need the sheet music, really. Maybe if he didn’t know the song. But he’d listened to one of the songs Jon had played him and he didn’t even know the name, but no one had been home but him and his fingers had found all the right keys, and his voice had landed on all the right syllables and it felt so right. 

He started to play one of the songs he’d heard on the radio in Jon’s truck a few times. Just a few notes, but Pete stopped what he was doing, pressed his palm flat against his guitar to silence it. Brendon didn’t want to look at Ryan. He bit his lip, and out of the corner of his eye he could see William lean back on his hands and narrow his eyes at Brendon, like seeing him for the first time. He lifted his head a little and other people were looking, too—Patrick, Frank, Joe. Brendon’s fingers faltered and he dropped his hand, felt burnt. 

“Wait, no,” Pete said. He had an intense expression on his face. He leaned over, reached out a hand, closed the short distance between them and put his hand on Brendon’s where it had fallen to his knee. There was nothing exceptional about Pete, really. He had a nice smile and dark eyes and he was even shorter than Jon. But he touched Brendon and it was like an electrical shock. He didn’t feel fuzzy anymore, and he realised he must have been drunk, but that was gone. His senses were _singing_. And then he felt words in his throat, waiting to be let out, felt energy in his fingers, wanting to be spent. 

He began to play before he even made the decision to, but once he’d started, it was only natural to let the words join. He didn’t like to sing when other people were around. He’d loved singing at church when he was little but one day his father had taken him aside when he was twelve and he’d had a stern lecture about how loud Brendon got when he sang along, how he drowned out everyone else, how singing was about praising God, not showing off and Brendon went home and cried. 

Because he thought he was praising God, because music made him so happy, sometimes when he was singing or playing was the only time he thought he really knew God, really understood. Maybe that’s when he’d started not believing. What God would give him this gift with music and let him love it, then tell him he couldn’t have it? 

So he sang, and he wasn’t sure exactly where the words came from, but he knew they were his, and so was the music. Pete had given him something in that touch, but this was all Brendon’s. 

“ _You’ve never been so divine in accepting your defeat And I’ve never been more scared to be alone If love is not enough to put my enemies to sleep Then I’m putting out my lantern, find your own way back home._ ”

Pete smirked, and maybe he deserved to be smug about it. Brendon laughed a little shakily and put the guitar down gently beside himself. “I…I don’t even. How did…”

“It won’t always be that easy,” Pete said. 

Brendon wanted to ask what had happened, but as quickly as all the energy and enlightenment had come, it was swept away and that fuzzy, drunken feeling from before came back full force. He stood up and stumbled a little to the side and Ryan caught him. 

“Come on,” Ryan breathed against his cheek, and that was when Brendon noticed Ryan had an arm under his and was tugging and they were so close that Brendon’s hip was pressed into Ryan’s leg and he sagged a little. “Come on,” Ryan repeated. He tugged and who was Brendon to argue. 

“Fucking William. Fucking Pete,” Ryan said, when they’d got out of the tent. It was dark all around them. There were no guests left, no Zack, and Brendon vaguely wondered what time it was. He also thought about admonishing Ryan for his language, but that seemed like a really long time ago, so he stayed quiet. He blinked and they were in Ryan’s tent. 

“You should probably lie down,” Ryan said. “I’ll get you some water. Pete never thinks, just does these things, and…” Ryan sighed and there was something in his face that made Brendon wish he wasn’t drunk so maybe he could understand it. 

“It was good, though, right?” Brendon asked, head falling on Ryan’s shoulder. “It felt good.” 

“It was alright,” Ryan said in a grudging tone of voice. “It was a little simplistic. You did alright.” 

The next thing Brendon knew, he was blinking awake, and everything was still blurry all around him. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and everything was so quiet it roared and there was one soft light on in the tent. That was when he realised he was under the blankets on Ryan’s cot. He tried to move, but it was like someone had put weights all over his body. He looked at the light instead and found Ryan sitting at the table, bent over his cards, biting his lip. He fell back asleep without really meaning to. 

IX.

Jon was going to work at his father’s store for a while, and see what was around. What Jon really wanted to do was leave Nevada in the dust, go somewhere like Los Angeles, or New York, or even go back to Chicago, where things were really happening. He thought he might get a job at a club—maybe a bartender or a bouncer or something. Maybe play music for the acts. 

He played piano alright, and maybe he wasn’t the greatest singer, but he could carry a tune. Besides, he could play bass and guitar, and he’d never, ever hoped he’d meet someone like these people, who played rock and roll, only somehow _better_ and just invited him to play along like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Now Jon knew what he wanted. The entire time he could barely take his eyes off her. Jon hadn’t really given a lot of thought to drummers before. Yeah, he dug the beat, it was what held it all together, but he’d never really looked at them, watched them, seen it happen. Only, if she was good with swords she was a pro with drumsticks. And it was all as elegant as her dance. She banged the shit out of her drums on a couple songs but she did it with grace. With style. It didn’t hurt when Jon played a little something and she flipped her hair back and smiled at him, fast and bright, and wow. 

So, Jon had thought her glare was something but her smile. His fingers went numb for a second and thank god no one seemed to notice, but he couldn’t help it, because her smile just made everything stop and shine brighter and better, and when his fingers could move again, he felt like he’d never entirely understood music until she smiled at him. 

After a while, the bartender came over and said it was his turn on the drums, and Gerard and the guy he introduced as his little brother Mikey, and Frank took over the stage and Jon and the others relinquished their instruments. Jon wanted to talk more to Pete, but that could wait. He looked around and finally spotted her behind the bar. Maybe it was a thing, where everyone who played drums got to mix drinks when they weren’t playing or performing in the circus. 

“You were…” Jon searched for adjectives that weren’t really embarrassing, but couldn’t come up with any, and decided he didn’t care. “You were amazing up there.” 

She flushed and ducked her head. “Did you want something to drink?” 

Jon said, “When would I not like something to drink. Surprise me.” 

She licked the corner of her mouth and went away and came back with something so strong it burned his nose when he drank it. Yeah, he might have been falling in love. 

“How did all this happen?” Jon asked, gesturing all around him. “I mean, how did you end up here, and dancing and playing drums, and how did Pete find you all, and…” He couldn’t explain it, his curiosity. Usually he was the calm one that drank it all it, but this was so overwhelming. 

“You and your friend ask a lot of questions,” she observed, in her low voice that made Jon’s hair stand on end in a pleasant way. 

“I don’t usually,” Jon said. “You make me want to know things.” It wasn’t a great line—hell, it wasn’t even a line, but she did this to him. 

She hesitated, like she wanted to say one thing, but what came out of her mouth was something else entirely. “Ryan and I…we grew up around here.” He looked around the room like it somehow was indicative of the desert beyond. “This other circus, it used to come to town every year and my mom and dad would take us,” she said. 

“Ryan, he. Even before he had a deck of cards he could just tell things about people, you know?” Like Jon did, and Jon, yeah, Jon believed it. He nodded. “Well, he had a hard time with it. He wasn’t good at hiding it, and people called him names and beat him up, and then his mother ran off with another guy, and his dad.” 

She stopped, uncomfortable and Jon put his hand on her wrist. He meant it to say that she didn’t have to keep going, but she looked at where they touched and her lips twisted into a small, sad smile. “His dad blamed him. He drank a lot. It was mostly the alcohol. But then, when we turned fourteen, the circus came and it wasn’t the same circus, it was _Pete’s_ circus.” 

She shook a head and her face was fond and confused at the same time. “I’m still not really sure how it happened, it was so fast. Ryan was so unhappy, and seeing him unhappy made me unhappy too, and then Pete…I…why am I _telling you this_?” She stopped and blinked at Jon. 

Jon squeezed her wrist. It was totally inappropriate, the flash he had of doing it in another situation, with her wrists over her head, pinned to a wall or to the bed and him over her. It didn’t stop him from wanting to hear the rest of what she had to say. He wanted to know everything. He just wanted that, too. 

“Please, I want to hear the rest. I want to hear everything,” he said to her, and then laughed a little. “I’m. I don’t even know your name,” he said, and rubbed his thumb over the inside of her wrist. Her breath caught a little and the sound went straight to Jon’s groin. 

She jerked out of his grip. There was a blush over the bridge of her nose and cheeks. “My name is _Spencer_ ,” she said venomously. 

Jon leaned back a little in surprise at her tone, and then what she’d said finally registered. “Um…” interesting, “what?” 

“Spencer.” She leaned over the bar until their noses almost touched. “That’s my name. Because I’m a fucking _guy_.” 

She—he—Spencer tugged off the little apron he was wearing and threw it on the counter and stormed out, and Jon could only watch in disbelief and, hey, he wasn’t going to lie, abject arousal. 

_Spencer_. Damn. If pissing him off made him stalk off with that much of a sway to his hips, Jon might have to do it a lot. 

“Pete,” he grabbed Pete’s sleeve as he walked by. Pete stopped obligingly and gave Jon an expectant look. “So, I think I’m head over heels for Spencer, and I’m coming with you guys, okay?” Maybe he’d been wrong about all the looks he’d seen Patrick and Pete giving each other, but he didn’t think he was, and Spencer was so worth the risk. 

Pete’s smile was so wide it almost made Jon’s cheeks ache. “You can play the bass for damn sure, and we can always use a man who’s good with his hands,” was what he said, and Jon took that as tacit approval. 

“You hurt him, though, and Ryan will definitely break your kneecaps, and probably everyone here will help,” Pete added thoughtfully. 

“Awesome,” Jon said, and meant it. 

X.

Ryan was in his tent, bent over his cards with Brendon snoring softly in the corner when Spencer stormed in like a whirlwind. A glance at his pocket watch told him it was three thirty-three in the morning. This couldn’t be good. He didn’t say anything but swept his cards together and began to shuffle them. He hadn’t particularly liked that reading anyway. Spencer would talk when he was ready. 

“I…” Spencer stopped pacing a flung himself down in the chair across from Ryan. He didn’t say anything else. Ryan separated the cards and fanned them back together neatly. Spencer just watched him for a few minutes. “I told him I was a guy.” 

He said it like it was a mistake. Ryan sighed. “Well, I’m thinking he would have realised that sooner or later, pretty definitely.” 

Spencer nodded and pushed his hands through his hair at his temples. If he had been a meaner friend, Ryan might have pointed out that Spencer’s hair and clothing choice didn’t do a whole lot to make his gender that obvious. He was a good friend though, so he reached over and put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. 

“This place,” Spencer said, and let out a rueful laugh. “It’s totally messed with my head. I go around seeing girls with boys and girls with girls and boys with boys and girls with boys with girls and you know. And they don’t care about that, or what colour anyone is, and they’re all so happy, but I forget what it’s like when someone from outside notices.” 

Ryan shivered at the memory. It didn’t happen often, only twice since Ryan and Spencer had joined over three years ago, but every once in a while someone wasn’t careful, or a guest somehow managed to be someplace they weren’t supposed to be—looking for a freebee or too drunk to realise where they were, and that…It was bad. Patrick had got hurt pretty badly the first time, which had driven Pete mad, and you didn’t want to see Pete mad. Both times it had taken Pete’s considerable talents, and Spencer’s and Andy’s to make all the outsiders forget, and even then Pete would never go back to Saint Louis or Macon ever again. 

“But Jon,” Ryan said. He fought past the initial gut reaction of fear because he’d _read_ Jon’s cards. He’d seen. He’d watched the way Jon interacted with everyone, like he’d known them forever. He’d see the way Jon looked out for Brendon and touched him a little when Brendon started getting nervous or antsy. 

Ryan was the cautious one, not Spencer. Spencer wasn’t exactly the sort to always rely on impulse, but he didn’t worry about consequences like Ryan did. Spencer was easy going unless someone did something to piss him off. Jon made him like this, and Ryan thought that meant something, but didn’t say it. 

Brendon snuffled in his sleep and turned over and Spencer looked over his shoulders, all wide-eyed. “You didn’t,” he said slowly. 

Ryan gave Spencer a deadly glare. “William got him drunk. I don’t think he’d ever drunk before.” 

Ryan knew the second Spencer let down his barriers. He could feel Spencer’s mind bump gently against his. It wasn’t intrusive, just the inevitable flow of Spencer’s mind when set free. Spencer could push harder, but Ryan would just push back. 

Other people, people who didn’t know better, or who didn’t care, people like Brendon, who was asleep, anyway, and defenceless, people like that Spencer didn’t have to try with so much. And Spencer was watching Brendon with disbelief on his face. “Jesus,” Spencer breathed. “Jesus, just. He’s so fucked up.” 

Ryan wanted to step between them, like that would help. Wanted to tell Spencer to stop, and it wasn’t all jealousy or all protectiveness, but some blend of the two. 

“Like we’re any better,” Ryan said softly. 

Spencer turned to face him. His expression was gentle. “Write a song about it, Ross,” he said, and Ryan would have smiled any other time, but for some inexplicable reason, Spencer’s words made something hurt in his stomach. Something that said his songs weren’t ever going to be right again, not without Brendon singing them. “What?” Spencer asked slowly. “Ryan, what?” 

“Pete did his,” Ryan flicked his hand expressively, “on Brendon.” 

Spencer’s eyes went toward his hairline. “And?” 

Pete did his thing on people sometimes. He’d done it on all of them at least once. He called it an epiphany, a moment of clarity. One of Ryan’s readings bottled up in one intense feeling of _right_. 

Pete could do other things, but that was probably the least harmful. Mostly he just pulled it out to make sure someone was right to join the circus, but occasionally he did it when they were being stupid, too. But, surely he didn’t mean for Brendon to join the circus…Brendon was. Well, he was nice, and eager, but you didn’t have to be Spencer to see that he had some seriously weird hang ups about the circus. 

“And,” Ryan said, and he was so tired. He’d lied to Brendon, pretended it hadn’t been amazing when Brendon just picked up a guitar for the first time in his life and plucked that song out of thin air and those lyrics that hit something in his chest and made him just want to touch Brendon, just be near him, just play music with him and be in his arms and…

He knew if he said what he thought that Spencer would understand, and he didn’t want Spencer to understand. Spencer understood him too well and wouldn’t let Ryan lie to himself. “Pete should keep his hands to himself.” 

It wasn’t any kind of answer and they both knew it, but Spencer must have been out of it about the Jon situation, because he didn’t argue. He just rubbed his face with his hands and said, “I’m going to bed…”

There was an invitation there, one that need never be spoken, that lay between them, because they’d known each other long enough that it was enough. “He’ll probably be sick when he wakes,” Ryan said. 

“We’re leaving day after tomorrow,” Spencer reminded him, like Ryan had forgot. 

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. Spencer ruffled his hair and Ryan fought the urge to grab his hand and hold on. 

He’d been shuffling the entire time Spencer had been there, and when he laid out the cards, they were exactly the same. 

There they were. 

Telling him to trust, giving him a glimpse of the creative potential. Telling him he’s a stubborn bastard and is uncomfortable with change but this change will be _so good_ , will making all the jagged edges smooth, will make all his words right, everything he creates beautiful. Telling him the past was bad, stagnant, and so hopeless but the future, _this_ future has this person—this kind, generous person—who will make you so much more than you are. Telling him, _you were wise to look inwards and become meditative, but you’ve been alone long enough_. Telling him he’s not fooling anyone when he thinks he’s being careful, because he’s really being a martyr and he’s just staying still, just like his father was. And he’s just as confused as you are. There are all these choices before him and he doesn’t know what’s right, and you could make it easier for him. Tells him _look, I know you’ve faced a lot of pretty terrible shit in your life, but you’re strong Ryan Ross, fucking act like it_. Telling him that if he just lets it happen, this is what is his: the two of cups staring up at him. 

Ryan could read anyone else’s cards and they’d be perfect. He could read the secrets people tried so hard to tuck away even from themselves. But Ryan had never accurately read his own cards. He looked at Brendon, and wished now more than ever before that he could, but instead he swept the cards up, hid them in the deck. Crushed the urge to squeeze the two of cups in his fist. 

XI.

Spencer wasn’t tired, really, so much as emotionally drained. He’d been asleep til the early afternoon—everyone in the circus tended to be night people, which worked really well except on travelling days when they got up with the sun to tear things down. Then they had five to ten hours of driving to look forward to, and pitching the circus when they got wherever they were going. Spencer liked it when they stayed in one place for a while, but there was always a little anxiety towards the end when he couldn’t just enjoy it anymore, but was looking ahead to what came next. 

Right now, though, he would give anything for tomorrow to be here already, and be Sunday, so he could get away and wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout from telling Jon he was a guy. Like he couldn’t have kept his mouth shut for twenty-four more hours, and then it wouldn’t matter. He’d done it plenty of times. He didn’t know _why_ guys mistook him for a girl. 

William liked to make comments about his hips and his ass, but really. He didn’t have tits, and his jaw was angular and he had a guy’s voice. Nobody ever mistook William and Ryan for girls, and they wore _dresses_ sometimes, for god’s sake. Spencer didn’t even wear makeup, despite Ryan’s best efforts. 

He lit his lantern and tied up the flap before undressing. He’d been such an idiot before, but it was done. No more near naked glimpses for men with soft eyes and soft lips and easy smiles. 

In front of the mirror in his underwear Spencer could okay, maybe, objectively say that the lace trim wasn’t helping, but all his old underwear had got holes in them and Victoria had bought him these and they felt nice against his skin and whatever. 

He put his hands on his hips. His hips seemed to be a recurring theme in Jon’s fantasies, those glimpses he caught before he firmly shut them off. He studied his reflection and tried to see what the guys saw, what Jon had seen. All he saw was soft and round where he should have been flat and angular. Nose weird shaped and too wide, cheeks too full, lips always tugging down at the corners and eyes too close together and squinty. Nothing special there, even if you thought he was a girl. 

Spencer sat down at the vanity. It was covered in Ryan’s makeup. Spencer made more money from his shows than Ryan did from reading cards—a lot of the smaller towns were full of hypocrites. It was blasphemous to go to a fortune-teller, but somehow okay to get your rocks off watching some guy (who maybe you thought was a girl, whatever) deep throat a bunch of phallic objects. 

Spencer didn’t mind buying him makeup or letting him keep it with Spencer’s stuff, because Ryan spent more time in Spencer’s tent than his own anyway. Spencer had watched Ryan put it on himself and other people plenty of times. Spencer even let Ryan practice on him when no one was going to see him.

Lip colour first, in a soft pink that was hardly darker than his own lips, but that gave them a little shine. He brushed light pink over his cheeks but it didn’t make his cheekbones stand out like it did Ryan’s. He traced his eyes with lines of dark grey and smudged them like Ryan did his. On him, it looked mysterious and exotic. On Spencer it looked ridiculous, like a boy playing in his mother’s things. 

Only he _was_ a boy, and he didn’t want to look like a girl, and fuck stupid fucking Jon Walker, making him wish for the first time in his life he’d been born another way. He threw the eye-pencil at the mirror and that didn’t accomplish much other than breaking the tip. Ryan would probably be annoyed. 

His hair fell into his face and he pushed it back for the hundredth time and when his fingers reached the end, he realised how long it had gotten, past his shoulders, creeping toward his collarbone. Like a _girl’s_. 

He yanked open one of the drawers and found Ryan’s sewing scissors and only hesitated for a second before he grabbed a handful of hair, pulled it tight and cut. The hair fluttered to the floor and fell there like a dead thing, and Spencer liked the look of it. He grabbed another handful. 

There was a presence that brushed against his mind a second before he heard the sound of someone tugging on the flap of his tent. Only Ryan would be so bold, but it wasn’t Ryan’s mind brushing against his. Spencer felt his heart leap to his throat and he clamped down hard on his mental control, clutched the scissors tight and stood behind his chair, like that would somehow protect him. 

Jon ducked under the flap, and what was the good in tying it if someone could just go under? Spencer brandished the scissors before himself. Best to be proactive. He’d seen what the guys had done to Patrick when they’d figured out he more than looked different, and he’d heard what the mob had planned to do to Gabriel and William when they’d been caught together. 

“What’s that about?” Jon asked, and looked vaguely amused, rather than threatened. 

“Bob is just as scary as he looks, and Frankie carries a switchblade. And if I scream everyone will be here in a second,” Spencer warned. 

“I hope not,” Jon said, “that could be really embarrassing.” 

Spencer was confused enough to narrow his eyes a little more, but not to let his arm drop in the slightest. He really wished Ryan wasn’t in the middle of his own emotional crisis, because Ryan would know how to handle this so much better than him. Spencer could glare, and look mean, but Ryan was good with words and could just cut people apart with them. 

“Hey.” Jon held up his hands, palms out and took another step toward Spencer. His eyes went from the scissors to Spencer’s face, taking in the makeup, the jagged edges of hair. And then down. If there’d been any doubt about the guy thing, it should have been pretty damn clear now. Just Spencer, not bony skinny like William, or narrow muscles like Pete and Ryan, just Spencer all white and curves, but no breasts, and his underwear were tight. And who was he kidding? He might to cry with wanting to be a girl, because that would mean Jon would still want him. 

Spencer threw the scissors onto the vanity top and crossed his arms over his stomach, curved into himself. “Can we please…” He stopped and tried again and was pleased with how even his voice was, almost disinterested. He turned away so Jon couldn’t see his face. 

“I’m sure this has been just as traumatic for you as for me, but you don’t have to do this to prove you’re really a guy, because you didn’t know, right? So it isn’t a big deal, and I didn’t tell anyone, and we’re leaving Sunday morning, and then no one will be around to remind you of how you were digging a guy, so can you just—”

“Not even me,” Jon said. 

“Not even you, what?” Spencer asked. He felt like he’d missed something. He wanted so badly to reach out a little, and Jon would be right there. And even if he saw little flashes of violence instead of passion, at least he’d be prepared for what Jon meant to do. He didn’t know what kept him from yelling for help. 

“Spencer,” Jon said, and he crossed the rest the space in three big steps and then he had his arms around Spencer’s, holding them to his side so he couldn’t fight back. Spencer panicked and slammed his head back, but Jon avoided the blow, hugged tighter and Spencer wasn’t helpless, damn it. He growled and slammed his heel back on Jon’s foot and Jon groaned but squeezed tighter and then Jon bit him. 

They both went all still for a second in shock and Spencer was already painfully aroused before he realised it hadn’t hurt. Jon didn’t move his mouth, just softened the bite, teeth grazing the skin lightly. Spencer shivered and brought his heel down again but with less force and Jon sucked lightly. 

Spencer widened his stance a little, his hips shifting forward all on their own, like he was begging to be fucked or to fuck, whatever, just… Jon let go of him and Spencer had to grab the back of the chair to keep standing, but Jon grabbed his hips tight. Spencer lifted his head and met Jon’s gaze in the mirror. 

Jon pressed a light kiss to the spot he’d bitten. “Spencer,” Jon said again, with a little smile on his mouth. He jerked back on Spencer’s hips and pushed his own forward and holy shit that was Jon’s cock pressed against his ass and Spencer may have let out the most embarrassing sound ever. “Hey, Spencer.” He bit Spencer’s earlobe. 

“Spencer, who is a guy,” he added, and one hand slipped from Spencer’s hip over his hipbone, fingers grazing the edge of his underwear then pushing under and no hesitation, just closing around Spencer’s cock like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Oh, god,” Spencer mumbled. Jon’s other hand skimmed up his chest, over his throat, caught his jaw, turned his head and Jon’s mouth was right there, hot and panting and Spencer lunged for it. It was all tongue and teeth and perfect. 

Spencer reached behind himself, fumbling with Jon’s waistband, got a hand down the front and fondled him through his underwear and Jon made this great little moaning sound that did things to Spencer’s stomach. 

There was a bed just a foot away, or the chair or vanity right in front of them, but there was something just ridiculously arousing about the way Jon had him all twisted up in awkward angles. Spencer had to stop kissing he was so short of breath and Jon just kissed his cheek, his jaw, bit his neck again, sucked on his ear until Spencer was coming in Jon’s hand and he hadn’t even taken off his underwear, but. 

Jon was still hot and heavy through his underwear and Spencer hadn’t ever done this, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how it worked. He lived in close quarters with William and Pete, after all. He broke out of Jon’s embrace and turned around and Jon was panting and his eyes were low-lidded and his lips were full from kissing. It didn’t even take any thought. 

Spencer dropped to his knees and jerked open Jon’s pants and pulled them down with the underwear. He put one hand around the base and yeah, he’d touched his own, but this was different—hotter, softer, just the right weight in his hand—and he leaned forward, looked up at Jon and opened his mouth over the head of his cock. 

“Shit, shit,” Jon said, and grabbed Spencer’s hair tightly. His fingers clenched and then he let go, muttered, “sorry.” 

Spencer hummed to mean he didn’t mind, but Jon’s eyes rolled back in his head when he did it, so Spencer hummed again, and just reached out and lifted Jon’s hand into his hair. Jon grabbed on again, like it was his lifeline. Spencer smiled around his mouthful and swirled his tongue experimentally. 

Jon said, “Oh shit, oh fuck, Spencer, don’t,” and pushed Spencer away by his shoulders just in time to come all over his face. Spencer blinked and Jon sank down in front of him and didn’t even pay any attention to the mess, just leaned in and kissed him properly, face to face, soft and sweet. 

“Sorry,” Jon said, when he pulled back and he shrugged out of his t-shirt, using it to dab at the mess on Spencer’s face. Jon kissed him again, putting his arms around Spencer’s waist and pulling until Spencer was in his lap, straddling him, and Spencer didn’t even mind so much the way his underwear were uncomfortably sticky because Jon was completely naked and Spencer was in his lap. 

“You don’t even know me,” Spencer said, turning his head away from another kiss. He said it in disbelief. He knew Jon had thought he was a girl. 

“I want to know you,” Jon said. His voice was low and intense. He nuzzled Spencer’s neck. “I’m going to know you. Every little part.” He bit Spencer at his shoulder. 

“We’re leaving,” he breathed, and he didn’t mean for it to come out so desperate, but Jon’s teeth were scraping over his skin. “Soon.” 

Jon lifted his head and he smiled. He had a smile that said everything was all right, that said not to worry. “Apparently, Pete’s always looking for someone good with their hands,” he said. 

Spencer felt his eyes go wide. “Are you…did you…” He didn’t even know exactly what he wanted to ask, only he had to know _why_ Jon would do something so big because he might say he wanted to get to know Spencer, but that was before he got to know him. Spencer wasn’t all bright, magnetic, wonderful like Pete and William and Gerard and Frank and hell, even Ryan. Spencer was awkward and glares and quiet and mistaken for a girl. 

Jon slapped him a little on his thigh. It didn’t hurt but it made Spencer jump, roll his hips up and, wow…Jon was already…again. “You’re a nice incentive,” Jon said slyly. “But this place…” He shrugged expressively. 

And yeah, Spencer got that. He wasn’t even insulted. In fact, he was relieved and it made him feel a little warmer. Spencer had known. He and Ryan had met Pete and stepped into the blue tent and they’d looked at each other and just knew. It felt like…

“It’s home,” Spencer finished, and Jon just kissed him again. 

XII.

Brendon woke up slowly, aware of the sounds around him before opening his eyes. Ryan was still at the table but he’d wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and drawn his knees to his chest. He had his hands around a steaming cup. 

It was still slightly cool, which meant the sun was probably only just rising. The late November weather was usually pretty warm, but they’d been going through a cold snap lately, which meant weather in the 50s and 60s instead of 70s. 

“Weird weather for the desert, huh?” Brendon said. His voice was a little scratchy with sleep and something else, probably having to do with the amount of alcohol William had given him the night before. His head was pounding. 

Ryan shrugged. “I grew up here,” he said and unfolded his legs from the chair. Brendon hadn’t noticed before how long they were, but pants he was wearing only came down to his knee, showing off the shapely curve of calf and ankle. He didn’t realise he was staring until Ryan was standing right in front of him, extending another cup. The scent of coffee wafted off the steam. 

“Um, I’m not really allowed,” he began, and cringed. “I mean…” He risked a glance up and Ryan was smirking. 

“On a sliding scale,” he said, “burlesques, fortune-telling, alcohol and coffee.” He tipped his head to the side like he was considering it. Brendon cracked a smile and took the cup. Brendon swallowed a hot mouthful and it was so _good_. He’d always thought it smelled nice, but not enough to be tempted. And here he was after staying out all night drinking and Ryan was right, he was on a roll. Why stop now? 

“Not allowed coffee,” Ryan mused, sitting beside him. Brendon moved to swing his legs over the side of the cot and give him more room. “What kind of rule is that?” He took a sip of his own like his own coffee drinking ability might be robbed of him at any moment. 

“Oh, well,” Brendon hesitated and took another drink to buy time. “Well, it’s because of the caffeine, you know, and because it’s hot. I’m not supposed to have hot chocolate, either. Or, well, regular chocolate.” 

Ryan looked vaguely horrified. “Are your parents evil?” 

Brendon blushed. “It’s…it isn’t them. I mean,” he waved a hand and couldn’t find the words to make it sound any way other than weird. Ryan was so close their shoulders were touching. “It’s my church. It’s their rules.” He hated the way his throat tightened, wanted to close up on the words. “My parents just enforce them pretty seriously.” 

Ryan pressed his shoulder hard companionably. “Parents,” he said, his voice weird, too. Brendon let his hand fall to his side, and if Ryan was so close it landed on his knee, well… 

“It’s, uh, late. Or early,” Ryan pulled a face. “It’s morning.” 

“What happened to Jon?” Brendon asked. He looked around to make sure he wasn’t missing him, like maybe Jon had camped out in the corner. 

Ryan blushed and for a horrible, terrible moment, Brendon felt a flare of jealousy in his stomach, but then Ryan said, “I think he found Spencer.” 

Brendon arched a brow and tried to place the name, but he didn’t recall being introduced to any Spencer. “Who?” 

“The guy that Jon thought was a girl,” Ryan said through an embarrassed smile. 

“Oh,” Brendon said thoughtfully. And then “ _oh!_ ” in realisation. “ _Oh!_ Was Jon really upset?” Brendon scrambled to his feet. He had to find Jon and…and then he didn’t know what. Sometimes there were stories about guys who liked other guys, and they were bad enough that Brendon knew better than to ever admit to anyone how he’d just been looking at Ryan’s legs. 

“Upset that Spencer was being an idiot, maybe,” Ryan said. Brendon turned around and Ryan had stretched out on the bed. Ryan must have been up all night at that table, and he did look tired. His eyes were drooping and dark all around but not from makeup, and his hair had lost its sculpted look and framed his face in a soft wave. 

“Wait, you mean…but, Spencer, and Jon, and…” Brendon couldn’t even babble right now he was too surprised. 

Ryan’s lips twisted in a wry expression. “Are we offending your delicate sensibilities?” 

“But.” It was all Brendon could manage. 

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Pete and Patrick have been together for four years. Frank and Gerard are dancing around each other, and Maja and Victoria are, I think, strictly interested in both men and women, but are pretty exclusive to one another.” 

“And you don’t. Everyone doesn’t. _Hate them_?” Brendon didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but, well. Most people wouldn’t even talk about homosexuals. Sometimes the guys at school muttered mean things about people, but even they were smart enough not to say it out loud, and adults pretended like the word didn’t exist. The only rumours that got passed around with any regularity were the ones about the famous people in Hollywood or New York. Everyone talked about them with such disdain. And then there were the occasional news stories about men arrested for sodomy. 

“You going to hate Jon, now?” Ryan countered. His eyes were narrowed and angry. 

“ _No_ ,” Brendon said urgently, emphatically, voice soft. Ryan’s eyes widened in surprise. “No. I just meant, that, well, it’s a crime, you know, and a sin, and most people don’t, well, I’m just surprised that everyone here doesn’t care, because _everyone_ cares about it.” 

“As far as crimes go, it’s a pretty harmless one, even compared to some of the other things that go on within this place,” Ryan said. “And it’s only a sin if you believe in that sort of thing.” 

Brendon felt the sharp end of that statement. Ryan asking _do you believe it_? “I’m not going to hate Jon. Or Pete and Patrick, or any of them,” he said, avoiding the real heart of the question. 

“Anyway,” Ryan said, “Jon is probably a little busy. I can drive you back to town, though.” 

The mention of town made Brendon’s thoughts turn to home and seeing his parents. It was dark in the tent but sunlight was glowing around the edges of the flap and near where a spike hadn’t been driven all the way in. 

They’d haven noticed him gone by now, or maybe in the next few minutes. Even if he left right away he wouldn’t be able to prevent it. They’d be waiting when he got home—no sneaking in and cleaning up. They’d see his wrinkled clothes, the stain on his shirt from where he’d spilt his drink a little last night. There was no talking his way out of this one. It was all so inevitable. 

“I don’t want to go back right now,” Brendon said at last. It would happen, and he’d be in so much trouble, and that knowledge, that certainty, just settled over him because there was nothing he could do about it. And he felt right, here. This place just…fit. And if he was going to be in trouble anyway, he was going to keep a hold of this. 

Ryan lifted his head from the pillow a little. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Brendon agreed. He took his coffee over to the table. Ryan’s cards were fanned neatly over the table, spaced just far enough apart that he could catch a glimpse of each, but no details. He reached out a hand and brushed his fingers over them. 

“Don’t,” Ryan said and got up from the bed so quickly coffee sloshed out of his cup. Brendon jerked his hand back like he’d been burnt. 

“Sorry,” Brendon said earnestly. “Sorry. I didn’t, I just wanted to…”

Ryan’s face was tight but he met Brendon’s gaze and relaxed. “No,” Ryan said, and sat down across from Brendon. “It’s alright. It’s alright.” 

Brendon knew that didn’t necessarily mean he could touch them again, but he had to see, had to push and find out how much Ryan would give. He lowered his hand again, tracing the edges of the cards, nudging them apart to look at them more closely. Ryan shivered and clasped his hands in his lap. “These are…Did you make these?” They didn’t look like something he’d bought. They were made with different medium—some in ink, others in watercolour, others in pastels or oils. There were accents of paper, lace, glitter, the occasional sparkle of mica. 

Ryan tried to be dismissive about it. “I’d had other decks. I liked some of one, others of another, but none of them fit.” He shrugged. “Gee helped some. Gerard.” 

“They’re beautiful,” Brendon said, and Ryan seemed to take that well, sat up a little straighter. “What’s this one?” He tapped a card near the beginning. There was a winged figure in a billowy robe with long golden hair that sparkled in the candlelight. Brendon couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but it held two cups, one above the other, and water poured between them. 

“She is Temperance. She helps you find balance between the old and the new, as well as between this world and the world of spirits. She warns you against extremes.” Ryan’s voice was low and melodic, like there’d never been tarot before him, like this was his story. He told him about Temperance and then Brendon pointed out Justice, then the Sun, then the nine of wands, the Chariot, the four of cups and others and Ryan knew them all without hesitation. 

It was like a religion, in a way. There were these figures who represented deities and archetypes and the way Ryan talked about it the tarot was all about balance and being at peace with yourself and with the world around you and doing things right. “Of course,” he added ruefully, “just because the cards can tell you what’s right doesn’t mean you’ll do it. People always seem intent on ignoring what’s good for them.” 

Brendon gave him a small smile. “Yeah.” He unearthed another card. The two of cups. It was all bright like the middle of summer, the figures of the sun and moon personified as a man and woman seated together at a table underneath a tree, holding their cups together in a toast. It was sunset, the sky lit up with a rainbow of colours. “I like this one.” 

Ryan hummed. “When the moon fell in love with the sun.” It sounded like there was a story behind that, but before Brendon could ask, Ryan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Brendon, I’m very tired. If you don’t want to go back yet, I’m certain there’s someone in the blue tent, but I need to lie down.” 

“Oh.” Brendon tried to hide his disappointment. “Yeah, I should probably get going, anyway.” 

“You should talk to Zack. He can take you,” Ryan said. 

In the bright sun, blinking against the glare on the sun, the world seemed real again, and painful, when Brendon thought about what was waiting at home. He suddenly wanted to get home right away. 

He found Zack in the cantina, reading a novel and picking at a plate of food and felt guilty for a minute about asking the favour, until Zack put down the book and saw him. “Hey, kid,” he said, “You need a ride?” And how could he know that? Brendon just nodded. 

Thankfully Zack didn’t say anything on the ride, because Brendon was so nervous he probably wouldn’t have been able to focus long enough to have a conversation. When they pulled up on his street, Brendon recognised the car parked in front of his house as Bishop Brooks’. He felt his stomach drop to his toes. He must have made a sound cause Zack put the truck in park and gave him a concerned look. “You okay?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Brendon said tightly, and was impressed he could get that many words out together all at once. 

“Thanks for the ride. Thanks…tell everyone I said thanks for last night, I. I’ll.” He stopped before he made a fool out of himself and got out of the car quickly, scrambling across the lawn. He saw his parents and Bishop Brooks through the big front window and knew whatever trouble he thought he’d been in was, in actuality, far, far worse. 

XIII.

Jon ran his fingers through Spencer’s hair, massaging his scalp. Spencer tilted his head into the touch and made a sound suspiciously like a cat purring. “It’s all uneven.” 

Spencer flushed. “I. I was sick of being mistaken for a girl.” 

Jon kissed his neck below his ear. “Come here.” He stood and tugged on Spencer’s hand. Spencer went willingly, let Jon manipulate him onto the seat in front of the vanity. He ran a brush through Spencer’s hair, made it all neat and took the scissors from where they’d landed when Spencer had thrown them down. Spencer watched him as he began to even out the layers. The longest fell to his chin, the shortest fell into his eyes. 

He was going to cut it shorter but Spencer grabbed his wrist and shook his head. “I like it,” he said. 

“You don’t look like a girl,” Jon said, brushing a thumb over Spencer’s jaw. Their eyes met in the mirror. “I’ve never. You’re the first guy I’ve ever…I just saw you and _wanted_ you and, okay, so Spencer, your hips…”

Spencer laughed and Jon couldn’t believe he’d gone without hearing it before. His face just lit up, was so full of joy. He _didn’t_ look like a girl. Jon didn’t know how he’d mistaken it before, except that Spencer was a little curvier than most guys, but no. He didn’t look like a girl. But he was beautiful. He said it out loud and Spencer stopped laughing and just looked at him, reaching up to catch Jon’s hand in his. 

“Jon,” Spencer said slowly. “If you’re going to stay, there’s probably…I have to tell you something.” 

The tone of his voice made Jon nervous but he clamped down on it. “Tell me,” he said, and kept his voice soft. Spencer turned in his chair to face him and Jon knelt beside him, putting a hand on his knee. 

“We aren’t normal, around here,” Spencer blurted out. 

Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I had noticed.” 

“No, I mean, more than just this.” He gestured between them. “Ryan, he can really see what’s in the cards, and Gabe can do this weird hypnosis thing, and William.” Spencer stopped and blushed. “Well, anyway, I can—I see things.” 

“See things?” Jon echoed. He didn’t usually believe in stuff like that, but Ryan had seemed to know what he was talking about when he read the tarot cards, and Spencer wasn’t the kind of person to just make something up like that. He didn’t want to upset Spencer now that he’d finally got him talking. 

Spencer nodded. “Yes. I can see what people are thinking. Images, mostly. And most of the time I don’t. I mean, when I was little I couldn’t stop it from happening most of the time. So when I learned how I just blocked it all out. Sometimes Pete asks for my help, and sometimes I use it to read people but you—”

“You read my thoughts?” Jon asked. He still wasn’t sure he believed it, but he was curious. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Spencer protested quickly. “I didn’t even try. You just, you were imagining it so vividly and it was so intense and suddenly your thoughts were right inside my head.” 

Jon leaned close, ran his hand up the inside of Spencer’s knee, up his thigh. “Which thoughts of mine would those be?” He asked. He could get into this. Maybe this was Spencer’s way of telling him something without actually having to admit the thoughts were his own. 

“You…you wanted to taste my freckles.” That gave Jon a minute’s pause because, yeah, yeah he had. “You thought about the way the lace looked against my skin and you wanted to, ah, grab my hips and pull me—” 

Jon grabbed his hips and pulled him up, standing with him, bringing them together. It was a shame, really, that Spencer still had his underwear on, even as nice as they were. He pushed them down over his hips, and Spencer shimmied and let them fall. “What else did I think?” Jon asked, cause yeah, maybe Spencer could do what he said he could and that could be interesting. 

“My, my wrists,” Spencer said, and just like that, his breathing sped up a little. “Holding them down.” Jon grinned, sharp and fast. 

“Yeah.” He walked Spencer backward toward the bed and Spencer went, returning the smile with one of his own—small, but mischievous. He nudged Spencer’s knees apart and slid between them, laying Spencer back, grabbed his wrists and pressed them into the sheets by Spencer’s head. He shifted his hips, rubbing a slow, tight circle into Spencer’s groin. He bit his lip against a groan. “What am I imagining now?” he asked and tilted his hips so his cock nudged lower. 

“Oh, god,” Spencer said, eyes squeezing shut. “Do it, please.” 

Jon kissed him quickly and scrambled up from the bed to go to the vanity. “There’s oil in the drawer on the left,” Spencer said, anticipating what Jon wanted, or maybe seeing it. “Ryan uses it to take off his makeup.” 

“You ever done this?” Jon asked. He wasn’t the kind of guy that minded that. He wanted Spencer to know, didn’t want him to worry. 

Spencer smiled, like he understood, and Jon maybe didn’t like the idea of people just plucking random thoughts out of his head, but maybe Spencer doing it was neat. Intimate. “No,” Spencer answered. _Me either_ , Jon thought back and Spencer’s smile widened. “We’ll figure it out.” 

When Jon had three fingers in deep and Spencer was saying _now, now, please_ ; when Jon slid in and Spencer was hotter and tighter than he’d ever imagined, Jon had to agree that yeah, they’d figured it out just fine. He had to take a minute, face pressed into Spencer’s throat, hot and moist. Spencer wasn’t making a lot of noise, just swallowing over and over, hands tight on Jon’s biceps. After a minute he brought his legs up, feet digging into Jon’s thighs just below his ass. 

Jon thought about fucking him slow and long until Spencer was an incoherent, babbling mess and Spencer said, “yes, yes, just move _now_.” 

XIV.

Ryan found he couldn’t sleep once Brendon was gone. He was unaccountably anxious. He tossed and turned in the bed for several minutes and the sheets smelled faintly of gin and Brendon’s aftershave. So maybe he was a little worried about Brendon going home alone. He tried to focus on anything but the sick feeling he had in his stomach when he thought about it, but it was no good. 

He found himself outside Spencer’s tent without even really thinking about it. He could hear giggling and soft murmurs inside and for a minute he thought about turning around. He didn’t want to intrude. But worry made him press forward, scrape his nails in entreaty against the canvas, push out with his thoughts a little so that Spencer knew it was him. 

“Ry?” Spencer asked. He heard the knots being untied and then the flap pushed back and Spencer was giving him a concerned look. He nodded with his head, gesturing Ryan in and tied the flap closed again behind him. 

Jon was sitting on the bed in his pants. “Where’s Brendon?” 

“Zack gave him a ride home,” Ryan answered. 

“Shit!” Jon scrambled off the bed so quickly that if he hadn’t been so nervous would have made Ryan laugh. “What time is it?” 

“Just after ten,” Ryan answered. Jon’s urgency wasn’t doing anything for the growing sense of dread building in his gut. 

“Shit,” Jon repeated. “His parents…” he trailed off, examining his shirt and making a dismayed expression. Spencer looked concerned now too and pulled a new shirt out of his wardrobe, one of his less feminine ones, but still more frilly and delicate than most men would wear, and offered it to Jon. Jon took it without flinching, shrugging it on. 

“I don’t understand,” Ryan said, because he wanted to. “He said they were strict, but what can they do, ground him?” Spencer gave him a sharp look, reminding Ryan that he knew exactly what else parents could do. Reminded Ryan that while they had faded, his bruises and cuts had sunk in deep and stayed where no one could see them but Spencer. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Jon said, tugging on his shoes and lacing them up. “He doesn’t like to talk about it very much and I didn’t want to push him. We haven’t known each other very long. He’s Mormon, and the way I understand it is they have their own way with dealing with what they consider inappropriate behaviour.” 

“He just stayed out overnight,” Ryan protested. 

Jon gave him a wry look. “They don’t let him drink soda,” he said. “I better get over there.” Spencer caught his wrist and Jon pulled a little, let their fingers tangle together. “I’ll be back before morning,” he promised. “I should go by my place anyway and get some things. Of course, I still need to find someone willing to share their tent with me.” He said it in a teasing way and Spencer’s face softened. Ryan wanted to be glad for them, but he couldn’t be right now. 

“I want to come with you.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jon said gently. “They don’t like me anyway, and if I showed up with you—”

“I’ll stay in the car,” Ryan countered. “I shouldn’t have let him go by himself. I want to go now. I just want to see…”

Jon nodded. “Okay, come on.” 

Ryan didn’t say anything until they were in Jon’s truck. “You’re coming with us?” Was what he asked, even though there were other more pressing questions. 

Jon smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You cool with it?” 

“Of course, yes,” Ryan said and tried to match his smile. “Everyone likes you, and Spencer…”

Jon snorted. “You, when you were reading my cards, you saw it, didn’t you?” Ryan didn’t answer, but shifted a little in his seat. “Why didn’t you tell me he wasn’t a girl?” 

Ryan couldn’t help but laugh at that a little. “It was more amusing that way,” he said honestly. “Spencer always tells me and Bill we dress and look like girls, and here you were and recognised us both as guys and thought Spencer was a girl, and he wasn’t even dressed like one or anything.” 

“Have you seen his underwear?” Jon countered. 

“Victoria bought them,” Ryan protested quickly, blushing though there was no way Jon could see _his_ underwear. “They perform the same function, essentially.” 

Jon slipped a thumb past the waistband of his pants and tugged up until Ryan saw familiar black silk and red lace. Ryan didn't want to think about what had happened to Jon's underwear that had him resorting to wearing Spencer's. “I’m not arguing the point.” 

Ryan studied him for a long moment. He didn’t look like the rest of them. He didn’t have any tattoos or weird hair, didn’t dress strangely or anything. He looked like a normal guy, and here he was, the night after finding out Spencer was a guy and having sex with him, wearing Spencer’s girl underwear like it wasn’t a big deal. He looked so relaxed and easy going, hand almost slack on the wheel, eyes soft, mouth in a sleepy smile. He never would have thought that a guy that looked like this would be a guy who’d fit so well with them after only a couple days. A guy Ryan would feel at ease sitting in a truck with, talking about wearing silk panties. 

“I’m glad about you and Spencer,” Ryan told him. 

Jon reached out a hand to put it over Ryan’s, just for a second. “Hey. You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Ryan said, and then his mouth opened again, without his permission and added, “I’m worried about Brendon.” 

Brendon’s house was a neat, pristinely white little two storey on a neat, tidy square of green, complete with a picket fence and lace curtains in the windows. “Hang on here,” Jon said, and hurried up the path to the door. 

Ryan held his breath after Jon knocked, waiting for the door to open, hoping it would be Brendon who opened it. He couldn’t say why he was so worried over the whole thing. Jon didn’t seem overly nervous, even, and he knew Brendon better than Ryan, even if he hadn’t known him all that well. 

A woman opened the door, her face pinched when she saw Jon. She had a touch of Brendon around the face, but Ryan was positive Brendon could have never looked so mean. Jon had parked on the street and they were speaking in low voices that Ryan couldn’t hope to hear. He couldn’t seen Jon’s face, but Jon’s shoulders had gone tense and Brendon’s mother was gesturing with her hands. 

Ryan held is breath, waiting for Brendon to appear behind his mother, but after a minute Jon turned away, looking disgusted. Ryan was out of the truck before he had time to think about it. “Where is he?” He looked between Jon and Brendon’s mother. 

“He isn’t here,” Jon said in a low voice. 

“Isn’t…but Zack would have brought him straight home.” 

“He did,” Jon answered. 

“But then, where is he?” Ryan demanded. 

“She won’t tell me.” Jon threw a gesture over his shoulder and the woman closed the door. 

“Maybe she’s lying,” Ryan said. “Maybe she doesn’t want you seeing him.” 

“I know she doesn’t, but she isn’t lying,” Jon said. 

“Did they kick him out?” Ryan asked in disbelief. One night out? Even his own parents wouldn’t have kicked him out over something so ridiculous. He had to find Brendon if that was the case, though he didn’t know what he’d do once he saw him. He hadn’t got that far in his mind. He wouldn’t allow himself. 

“No,” Jon answered, and Ryan wasn’t sure if he was relieved by that or not. “No, she said something about taking him to the church and having a meeting.” 

“So he’ll be alright?” Ryan asked. Perhaps Mormons had church on Saturdays, like the Jews. Ryan didn’t know much about religion. He needed Jon to reassure him. 

“I’ll come back again tonight. His parents are in bed before ten, usually,” Jon assured him. They got back in and Jon turned to face him. “Mind hanging around while I get my stuff?” 

“No,” Ryan answered, still pensive. “Are your parents going to react like Brendon’s?” 

Jon laughed, an easy sound. “Doubtful. My parents are pretty easy-going. I don’t think Dad will be too upset that I’m not planning on staying with the family business considering that both my brothers already have. Though I’m not sure the circus thing will be all he’s ever dreamed for me.” He shrugged, like it didn’t really matter in the long run. 

Jon’s house wasn’t as nice and perfect as Brendon’s, but this time Jon invited him in. The split-level was cosy and inviting and felt well lived in. It made Ryan think of Spencer’s home. Jon introduced Ryan for what he was to his family and they all welcomed him warmly. It was strange, because most people liked to visit the carnival and sometimes do a little more if the girls were willing, but when it came to socialising outside, it was like the circus members were social pariahs. 

Then Jon got to the heart of matter after his mother had brought in several tall glasses and a jug of lemonade and made sure Ryan was certain he didn’t want some of the muffins she baked last night—blueberry and still fresh. Ryan was glad for Spencer that Jon was coming, but he kinda thought if his home had been like this he wouldn’t have wanted to leave for the circus in the first place. Of course, Spencer left a nice home because he loved Ryan, and now Jon was doing it because he loved Spencer. And besides, as dysfunctional as they were, the circus was a home, too. 

“I’m leaving town with the carnival,” Jon told them and his mother blinked politely. His two older brothers were smiling like it was a joke and they were waiting for the punch line. 

Mr. Walker had questions about what he planned on doing in the show. Mrs. Walker had questions about finishing his education. His brothers had questions about which of the kootch girls he’d got pregnant and how they’d been able to tell so quickly. Jon addressed his parents concerns with that easy confidence Ryan was beginning to associate with him and rolled his eyes at his brothers, but, Ryan noticed, was not so comfortable with them to say that the girl he was leaving for wasn’t a girl. Ryan didn’t really hold it against him. 

Spencer and Ryan had left in the middle of the night as the circus headed out of town. Perhaps their parents had had suspicions that they’d left with the circus, but even if they had, the circus had gone five hundred miles in two days and then that was that. No one ever came after them. Spencer’s parents were always kind and understanding of what Spencer wanted, but when Ryan suggested they run away, Spencer had known his parents wouldn’t understand that. It seemed inconceivable that Jon’s parents would readily agree, and what’s more, on the way out, Mr. Walker gave Jon a little money and Mrs. Walker promised he was always welcome at home. 

“You must really care about Spencer,” Ryan said in what tried to be a bland voice. He was mostly just wondering if he would ever see Brendon again. 

“Hey,” Jon said. “Spencer said you can all do things—you and him and William and the others. Does that mean that I’ll be able to do something?” 

Ryan glanced at him sidelong. “You should probably ask Pete about it.” Jon didn’t seem too concerned about Brendon, so Ryan should just forget about it and focus on the fact that they only had one night left in Vegas and he hadn’t been really earning that much and he needed to do well this evening because he was almost out of eyeliner. Plus they’d be heading north soon and he should probably pick up some warmer clothes for when they left the desert. 

So, yes, there were plenty other things to do besides worry about some guy Ryan barely even knew. He managed to convince himself that was the case even as evening came and crowds of families began to disperse, being replaced with the men of the town looking for a good time and still no sign of Brendon. He managed to convince himself that was the case when Jon stopped by just before ten to tell him he was going to town. He managed to convince himself his stomach was upset because he hadn’t got any sleep and he hadn’t eaten, so why wouldn’t his stomach hurt? 

XV.

Brendon had heard about the Court. Everyone had. It was this sort of myth around the church. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d been to the Court. Usually over something like being caught having sex before marriage, or adultery, or people who’d been practicing plural marriage in secret. Brendon had only known a few people who’d had disciplinary actions successfully taken against them and he’d never thought he’d be on the receiving end. 

Somehow, they knew where he’d been. Brendon thought it must have been because someone had seen him, which meant someone else from the church must have been at the carnival. Of course, it would have done him no good to point it out, so he didn’t. He bit his tongue and waited as they preached at him and when his mother asked him in that pained, confused voice, “why?” Brendon couldn’t lie. 

“I just wanted to see what it was like, at first,” Brendon said. “Everyone at school was talking about it and Jon invited me.” Which was followed by a long lecture about avoiding the pressure of peers, choosing friends with similar morals and strengthening relationships with members of the church. 

So, Brendon didn’t know why he said it, but he was so sick of the condescending looks Bishop Brooks kept giving him, and he was sick of lying to them because it was what they wanted to hear but it didn’t do anything to make the situation any better, so he said, “I don’t think I believe in God anymore, and last night I played music with a band and had something to drink and then I slept in a fortune-teller’s tent, and in the morning, the fortune-teller gave me coffee and let me look at his cards.” 

There was silence for a long time, and Brendon almost felt sorry at the look on his mother’s face. And then Bishop Brooks had said “Apostasy,” and Brendon’s parents had nodded gravely and Brendon’s mouth had gone dry and he couldn’t even speak in his defence. 

“Brendon, you must understand that as a fellow of the Aaronic priesthood, this is a serious offence,” the Bishop said and Brendon hadn’t ever meant for it to go this far. 

He thought about how this would have never happened if they hadn’t left Utah, how he’d been so involved in the church activities and with church friends. Maybe it never would have happened if he hadn’t met Jon, but he didn’t want to think about not having met Jon. They’d become friends so quickly and it just felt right. Maybe it would have never happened if he hadn’t gone to the carnival, but the thought of having never met Ryan—even though he’d probably never see Ryan again—made his stomach do a flip. 

“Normally we would not convene a Court over the actions of a minor,” Brooks continued, “but you are nearly eighteen, Brendon, and the nature of your offence calls for dramatic action.” 

What could they do? Excommunicate him? Bishop Brooks left to gather the Court, instructing Brendon’s father to bring him to the church at noon. Brendon was sent to his room and he felt like the walls were closing in, suffocating him. They couldn’t excommunicate him, could they? He hadn’t done anything really bad. He said he thought he didn’t believe in God, and the rest of it—well, drinking was bad and everything, but the worst trouble anyone got in was being disallowed sacrament for a few months. 

He was caught in this horrible cycle in his head, thinking it through. So he said he didn’t think he believed in God, which was covering for the fact that he was actually pretty sure he didn’t believe in God, or at least he didn’t want to believe in God. He didn’t care. But they didn’t know that, and it wasn’t like they could prove it. But the Court would pray for their judgement and maybe, maybe there was a God, and if they prayed, he’d tell them all the horrible thoughts Brendon had had but had never told anyone about, hadn’t even admitted to himself. 

Except, that was impossible, because even if God did exist, it had been a long time since Brendon believed he actually spoke to people through their prayers. After all, Brendon hadn’t always felt like he did now. He’d believed once. He’d been painfully, devoutly in love with the idea of God and he’d _prayed_. He’d never received divine enlightenment. And maybe his failing faith was a petty, childish reaction to God’s lack of response, but whatever. 

From the moment Brendon had met Jon, he’d pretty much come to terms with the fact that atheism, or at the very least agnosticism was the way for him. But it was one thing to know that, and another thing to come out and say it to his parents. If he got excommunicated, what would happen to him? Would his parents kick him out? Jon had said he was welcome at his house, but that could only last so long. He’d have to get a job, find his own place. Maybe Jon’s dad could give him a job at the store until he found another. 

There was a knock on his door and Brendon felt the bottom go out of his stomach. He was scared, and it was stupid, and he wished he’d never gone to the circus, or maybe he wished he’d never come back from it. 

Even though it was Saturday the church was busy. There was a women’s meeting going on and several youth activities, and as he walked through the halls with his father, Brendon felt like every eye was on him and everyone knew what he’d been doing. 

The council room was off of Bishop Brooks’ office, a small, stifling space with a long table across the back wall and a seat in the middle of the room. Bishop Brooks was seated at the table, along with Brother Mayfair and Brother Willard. Off to the side Brother Marks sat at a small table with a typewriter. Brendon’s father stood near the door in the shadows. It was eerie and intimidating and like something out of a bad dream. 

Since Brendon hadn’t denied going to the carnival, whoever ratted him out wasn't required to be present. Brendon would have liked to have known who it was, but it didn’t matter so much at this point. Bishop Brooks repeated what Brendon had told him and he saw the expression of distaste on Brother Mayfair’s face, heard Brother Marks taking down everything that was said. 

It all passed in a blur. Brendon couldn’t really take it in very well, just pressed his hands, all sweaty, into his thighs and waited, said what they wanted to hear, felt disconnected from everything around him. When they’d heard all they needed, Brendon was dismissed and his father led him into the hall to wait. 

While they sat in silence, Brendon planned it all out. He didn’t need a lot of clothing. He didn’t have any belongings he was really attached to. All he really needed was his school stuff. He could pack pretty quickly, say goodbye to Matthew and Kara, if they even wanted to talk to him. He’d leave with dignity. He wouldn’t let them see how scared he was, how unsure. He wondered what they’d tell Nathaniel and James when they got back from their missions. 

And then they were called back in, and he was told it had been a unanimous decision, as all decisions were in the Court of Love, because they came from God. His punishment was to last for a year and during that time he was stripped of his priesthood, disallowed to partake of the sacrament, and disallowed to pray. When he turned eighteen he would be presented with his garments and could wear them, but he would not be allowed to go on his mission until the year was passed. 

It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, and Brendon knew he should have been relieved, but he wasn’t. They family ate dinner in silence and Matthew kept sneaking him curious looks. Brendon went to his bed early. It wasn’t difficult. His mother was acting like he didn’t exist and Kara looked embarrassed, but was following her example. 

He kept hoping Matthew or Kara would come up and say something—tell him they understood, or they were there for him, or anything, but neither of them did. The house quieted down and the lights went out, and Brendon wasn’t remotely tired, but just lay on his bed staring at the ceiling and trying to figure it all out. 

He wasn’t even startled when a tap came on his window. “Brendon, thank god,” Jon said when Brendon opened his window, and Brendon almost laughed out loud at Jon’s word choice. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t around to take you back this morning.” 

Brendon shrugged. “It’s alright. Ryan told me you were with Spencer.” 

“He…what did he tell you, exactly?” Jon asked, and Brendon had never seen Jon look nervous before. 

“Look, Jon,” Brendon said, and he felt tired, because there was no other excuse for snapping at Jon. “I know about the two of you, and I don’t care, okay?” 

“Hey, what’s going on? I came by earlier and your mom said you were at church.” Jon’s big brown eyes were all full of worry. 

Brendon went back to his bed and sat down with his face in his hands. “Jon, you’d better get out of here. If my parents find you I’ll just be in more trouble.” 

“What’d they do?” Jon asked. 

“The church—look, it doesn’t matter, and you wouldn’t understand anyway,” Brendon said miserably. 

“Brendon, the circus is leaving tomorrow morning and I,” Jon took a deep breath. “I’m going with them.” 

Brendon’s heart felt like it was going to burst in his chest. He wasn’t ready for them to go. He wasn’t ready to never see Ryan again, to never play the guitar with Pete again, to never feel easy and _right_ like he had last night. And now, on top of that, Jon was going too. 

“Have fun,” is what he said, when what he wanted to say was _how can you leave me here alone?_ And _I want to come too._

Jon sighed. “Brendon, Ryan’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. Are you going to come say goodbye?” 

The floor in the hallway creaked and Brendon jumped from the bed in panic. “You’ve got to get out of here,” Brendon hissed and closed the window on Jon’s earnest expression. He drew the curtains shut and put out his light. Footsteps came down the hall but stopped outside his door. He almost couldn’t hear over his rapid heartbeat pounding in his ears. He couldn’t believe that was the last time he’d ever see Jon Walker. 

But maybe it was better this way. Brendon may had doubted his faith before he met Jon, but he never would have acted on it if Jon hadn’t been around. With Jon gone, Brendon could focus on what was important. 

XVI.

Spencer was trying not to be ridiculously happy, because Ryan was miserable, but it was difficult, because Jon made him ridiculously happy. Ryan had been out of it since they’d left Las Vegas. Spencer would admit that he was surprised Brendon hadn’t shown up to say goodbye, but Ryan was absolutely wrecked over it. He didn’t say as much, and maybe no one else noticed, but Spencer _knew_ Ryan. 

He’d been wearing the same outfit for the past couple days and he hadn’t done his makeup or touched up his roots at all. He hadn’t opened his tent once since they’d left Vegas, and now there were dark circles under his eyes. Spencer was pretty sure he hadn’t been sleeping, but since Jon had moved into his bed Ryan obviously hadn’t been coming by. 

“You know, I can totally find someplace else to sleep for the night,” Jon said, when Spencer expressed his concern. 

Spencer squeezed his hand. Jon had to be the most easy-going person Spencer had ever met, and given how easy-going a lot of the people in the circus were, that was really saying something. Spencer had known he was attracted to Jon when he first saw him, and then he knew Jon was a good guy when they’d spent some time together. But now, after a week of incredible sex and incredible pillow talk, getting to know who Jon was, and learning all the places that made Jon feel good, he was pretty damn sure he was falling in love. 

So he just said it, like that, “I think I’m falling in love with you.” 

Jon pressed his lips to Spencer’s a in a soft, fast kiss. “I totally beat you there,” he said with a little smirk. That look made Spencer’s stomach do flips, but then, pretty much everything about Jon made Spencer’s stomach do flips. 

In the end, Jon went with him into town and helped him pick out a pretty new shawl for Ryan to cheer him up, and some makeup on which Ryan had been running low. “You’re pretty okay with all this stuff,” Spencer said. 

“All this stuff?” Jon echoed. 

Spencer fingered the colourful fringe of the shawl Jon had picked out, embroidered with a variety of brilliant flowers and the occasional, delicate bird. Definitely something made for a woman, but Jon had said it was perfect for Ryan. “Ryan wearing women’s clothing, me and you. It took me a while to get used to seeing the way Pete and Patrick were with each other, but you just come in and think I’m a girl one second and know I’m the guy and are…well, you know the next.” 

Jon smiled, and Spencer knew if they weren’t in public, Jon would be pressing kisses into his neck, along his jaw, humming something dirty in his ear. He knew, because Jon was making him see it. 

They bought the stuff in a hurry and Jon drove his truck down an abandoned dirt road and Spencer was glad one of the thing’s they’d bought was some Surgilube. They were getting good at this, which wasn’t to suggest it hadn’t been good from the start, because, wow. But somehow, it was getting better. 

It should have been awkward in the cramped front seat of Jon’s truck, but it just felt remarkably risky and fun, the windshield fogged up, Spencer’s back against the window, and over Jon’s shoulder he could see the distant highway and the sun setting. 

When they got back to the carnival it was starting to get busy. Jon had been helping with running the rides and making repairs, and sometimes just hanging out in the blue tent. He was good at just about everything and everyone liked him so they were always asking him to help with their shows or setting up sets and the like. Spencer didn’t mind sharing, felt quite magnanimous about it really, knowing where Jon went every night when the carnival closed. 

“I could talk to Frank about staying in his tent tonight,” Jon offered as Spencer got ready for his show. Ryan hadn’t even been coming around to do his makeup. 

“It’s alright,” Spencer said. “I’ll go see him after my show.” Jon was sometimes too sweet to be real. He gave him a long kiss before heading out, frowning at Ryan’s dark tent as he passed. 

Yes, he had to do something about Ryan. He’d been wrapped up in Jon for long enough, and Jon was so understanding, and Ryan needed him. Spencer spared a dark thought for Brendon Urie, and went to work. 

XVII.

“Hey.” Jon was surprised to see Ryan peeking around the flap of the tent. Really he was surprised to see Ryan outside of his own tent. Spencer had been taking him his food twice a day and then coming back all pissy. Jon didn’t mind because Spencer and Ryan had been friends a long time and besides, Spencer looked really sexy when he was pissed. 

“Hey,” Ryan said back. “Can I come in?” 

“You know,” Jon said, “just cause I’m here doesn’t mean you can’t just come in whenever you want.” 

Ryan gave him a little wry smirk. “That’s really sweet of you, Jon, but there are certain aspects of your relationship with Spencer that I don’t need to see.” 

Jon rolled his eyes, but he was happy that Ryan was making jokes. “Seriously. I mean, if you wanted to sleep in here, I could sleep in your tent for the night.” 

Ryan blinked at him, clearly surprised by the offer. “You really are something else, Jon Walker.” 

Jon shrugged easily and smiled. “I’m not selfish. Everyone should get some Spencer time.” 

Ryan came more fully into the tent and peeked at the book Jon was reading. “Not doing anything tonight?” 

“I helped out Bill with some stuff in the Ten-in-One earlier, and I’m supposed to meet Pete at the blue tent after we close. What about you?” He wasn’t Spencer, but maybe Ryan just needed someone to talk to. 

“It’s felt off. The cards don’t feel right. Someone touched them.” He shook his head dismissively. “You’re going to see Pete? Has he said anything about what you can do?” 

Jon laughed. “I think he’s having fun toying with me. Or maybe there isn’t anything.” 

“That doesn’t bother you?” Ryan asked. He looked confused, little lines appearing between his brows. 

“Nah.” He touched his hand to the back of Ryan’s. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?” 

Ryan looked at Jon’s face. “Have you ever worn makeup?” Well, Ryan was weird. Non-sequitors were to be expected. He shook his head and Ryan bit his lip. “You going to let me put some on you?” 

So that was how Spencer found them when his show had finished, Jon with styling product in his hair and rouge on his cheeks and Ryan drawing around his eyes in black. Ryan was laughing, at least. 

Spencer looked nonplussed. “I don’t think I pull it off as well as you two do,” Jon said. 

“Maybe just the eyeliner,” Ryan said speculatively. “Spencer, stop trying to read my thoughts.” He didn’t sound particularly upset about it. “I’d tell you the truth if you asked me.” Okay, maybe slightly sullen. 

“Alright, so tell me why you haven’t worked a single night since we left Vegas,” Spencer said, hands on his hips, and Jon clamped down on any dirty thoughts that wanted to come out, because Ryan needed Spencer more right now. 

Ryan sat down heavily on the bed, picking at the blanket. “There’s something wrong with my cards. I’ve been getting the same reading over and over.” He waved a hand. “I let Brendon touch them.” 

That meant more to Spencer than it had to Jon. Spencer’s eyes went wide and he shot Jon a meaningful look. “Ryan,” is all he said though. 

“I’ll make some new ones,” Ryan said, like that fixed everything, like Jon couldn't see the hurt and loneliness in the set of Ryan’s shoulders and the downward turn of his mouth. 

Spencer might not have been able to read Ryan’s thoughts, but he knew him, and he didn’t press the issue. He let Ryan re-do his makeup and then the three of them went together to the blue tent. Ryan even draped himself in his new shawl and looked brighter and happier then he had in a while. 

It felt like Jon had been here forever. The past week had flown by, and yet he’d had ample opportunity to become acquainted with everyone. He’d visited Ryan’s tents a few times and they’d talked about books they’d both read and exchanged others. He’d hung out a lot with Bill and Tom and Gabe playing cards and drinking. He and Pete had been talking a lot about how the circus worked, and when they weren’t doing that they were playing around with Patrick and Andy and Joe. 

When the three of them came into the tent, lovingly termed the Decaydance Tent by Pete, Jon was warmly welcomed like an old friend. Pete drew him aside and Jon was still a little worried about Ryan, but he went along. 

“Figured it out yet?” Pete asked playfully. 

“Figured what out?” Jon asked suspiciously. He looked over at Spencer and Ryan again. He couldn’t help it. Spencer was…well, Spencer, and Ryan was depressed, but when he saw them at the bar, Ryan looked relaxed. 

“Yep,” Pete said. “Yours definitely has to do with proximity. Touch is good, but not absolutely necessary.” 

“Are you saying I helped him relax?” Jon asked. 

“You’re a very relaxed kind of guy,” Pete said. “Makes sense, huh? Bill’s amorous and he can make other people feel the same way. I’m talented and I can bring out the talents in others.” 

“And modest, too,” Jon interjected. 

“It doesn’t always fit so neatly. Some just don’t make sense at all.” They both looked at Patrick and shared a laugh. 

“So, you going to turn me into an act?” Jon asked. He wasn’t sure how that would work. Bill and Gabe and the girls made their abilities work for them, but some people, like Spencer and Bob and Tom, couldn’t use theirs in the circus. 

“You wanna do an act, be my guest,” Pete said, spreading his hands wide. “I’m not turning you into anything.” Pete was cool, but that didn’t mean Jon believed he was entirely free of ulterior motives. 

Jon caught up with Spencer and Ryan when they were about to go on stage with Patrick and Mikey. “I could sit this one out,” was what Mikey said, and he gave Ryan a little secret smile and handed his bass to Jon. 

It was awesome. Playing with everyone in the circus was great, and Jon had already learned a lot in the short time he’d been travelling with them, but somehow, when he was playing with Ryan and Spencer, it all just seemed to click. Then Patrick opened his mouth and sang Ryan’s words and it was good. It was really good. That didn’t mean it was right. 

XVIII.

Brendon went back to school on Monday like nothing had ever happened. But everyone was talking about Jon running away with the circus and there were all sorts of rumours about what had happened. Knowing what really happened didn’t make Brendon feel any better. And all the Mormon kids knew Jon’s disappearance had something to do with Brendon’s disciplinary council and they all whispered whenever Brendon came into the room. 

Home wasn’t much better. His father wouldn’t speak to him at all. His father had never been the most sociable guy in the world. He’d bonded with Brendon’s older brothers, but by the time Brendon and Matthew were born he’d become distant. Brendon had felt his father’s disapproval his whole life and while he knew this was worse than ever before, he could handle it. 

The lack of his mother’s affection was felt like a physical blow, though. She wasn’t always nice to Brendon and could be severe with him, but he’d always known it was because she loved him and wanted him to be worthy of the celestial kingdom. And she was never hesitant to give physical comfort—hugs that made Brendon feel safe and warm and like there wasn’t anything he couldn’t face. His mother wouldn’t look directly at him when she spoke to him now, which made him feel abysmal. 

Kara was holding up the front with their mother and that. Well, okay, parents were one thing, but siblings were another. He’d expected some support and solidarity, except he’d been wrong. He couldn’t even tell if it was because she honestly disapproved or because she was doing her duty as a good daughter, but he would have liked her to do her duty as a good sister. Kara was the one with the easy smiles who was usually so accepting of everyone, regardless of their religion. Except, apparently, when it came to her own family. 

Matthew walked with him to and from school in a companionable silence and sat with him at lunchtime, but Matthew had never been very talkative in the first place. Their grandparents often joked that Brendon talked enough for all four of his siblings. 

Matthew finally spoke to him on Wednesday. They were walking home after Seminary and Brendon couldn’t stop thinking about Mutual. It had been difficult getting through worship on Sunday and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again. 

“Brendon,” Matthew said, in a soft, vulnerable voice. “I don’t believe in it, either.” 

Brendon was simultaneously terrified and relieved and he couldn’t help it, he just started crying. 

That night, after Mutual and after their parents had gone to bed, Matthew came into Brendon’s room and they sat on his bed, and just talked about it all. When they’d started doubting, how lonely they felt, what they could do. 

“When they passed their judgement on me,” Brendon told him, “I guess I should have been relieved. But all I could think was it was just delaying the inevitable. I still don’t believe, and a year of thinking about it isn’t going to make it any better. I think about sitting around here being good for a year, and going on my mission, and coming back and getting married and it makes me feel like I’m dying inside.” 

Then Brendon told him all about the circus and the blue tent. Matthew listened to it with a sort of horrified awe, like he couldn’t believe Brendon had dared. His rebellion would probably never go as far as Brendon’s. 

Brendon took his lunch in the band room on Thursday. He didn’t have a good reason if anyone asked, but he missed listening to music with Jon and he thought maybe, just maybe, it might be like it had been with Pete and Ryan. 

There were a few greasers and some of the loners and rockabillies. They were just kinda messing around, not playing together, really. Some of them were good. One of the rockers saw him watching and he nudged the guy next to him, whispered something. They stared at him and one of them got up and came over. 

“What the hell do you want?” he demanded. He looked tough, but Brendon wasn’t particularly worried. 

“I just wanted to hear you guys.” 

He snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re one of those freaky religious kooks, aren’t you?” 

“I just like music,” Brendon said. Some of the others had noticed and were coming over. 

“And maybe you go back and tell Principal Poole what kinda music we were playing in here,” one of the greasers said with a menacingly look. 

Brendon sighed. “Can I?” He held out his hand for the guitar of the guy closest to him. He looked wary, but offered it anyway. It felt nice in his hands. He’d only played that once, but somehow it felt natural. “What’re you playing?” 

One of the greasers lifted his head defiantly. “Perkins.” 

Brendon could do that. He strummed the guitar a few times to get the feeling for it. Then he went straight into “Blue Suede Shoes.” After a minute one of the other guys joined in, and then another. 

By the time lunch had ended, Brendon had earned several compliments and offers to hang out after school. He might have been elated if he hadn’t been thinking about how much better it would have sounded with Jon and Ryan and the others playing along. Matthew met him in the courtyard like he did everyday and Brendon said, “Cover for me at Seminary?” 

“What are you doing?” Matthew asked, with as close to a desperate look as Brendon had ever seen on his usually expressionless features. 

“I have to go after h—I have to find the circus, Matt,” Brendon said. His brother had been really understanding about all the Brendon had told him, but Brendon was never going to be brave enough to tell him about Ryan. Matthew was his only family member who wasn’t treating him like a leper, and mentioning Ryan would be a quick way to fix that. 

“Brendon, if you leave, mom and dad will never let you come back,” Matthew said in a pleading tone. 

Brendon knew what Matthew was going to do. He was going to finish school, go on his mission, come back and marry in the Temple and have kids who were members of the church and he was going to be miserable and no one would ever know. No one would ever know he didn’t believe. Because even though he didn’t, Matthew couldn’t disappoint their parents like Brendon had. 

And Brendon had tried, but even one week had made it perfectly clear that he couldn’t do this. He didn’t know if that made him stronger than Matthew, or weaker, but it didn’t matter. He felt everyday like a little more of him was dying. 

“I know,” he said. He hugged Matthew tighter than he meant to and Matthew hung on just as tightly. “I wish things were different. I wish this was easier. I wish going didn’t mean leaving you, too.” 

Matthew made a sound suspiciously like crying and hid his face in Brendon’s shoulder. They’d been tight-knit, Matthew and Kara and Brendon, because Nathaniel and James had been older and had already bonded without them and got all their parents’ approval. Still, Brendon had the thought that Matthew was sadder that he was being left without someone sharing his plight than he was about losing Brendon specifically. 

Brendon promised to write and Matthew finally let him go and went off to make lies to buy Brendon enough time to get home and pack his things before anyone noticed. 

Even after everything, he still felt guilty about taking some of the money from the flour jar his mother kept hidden under the sink. He’d been trusted enough to know where it was kept and now he was exploiting that trust in the worst way, but he didn’t know what else to do. He packed up a few changes of clothes, as much as he could fit in his backpack with some bread and canned meat. He left his letter of goodbye, short and sweet, with his Book of Mormon on his bed and left, forcing himself not to look back. 

Jon’s parents were concerned and offered Brendon a place to stay when he told them what he’d done, but Brendon refused politely. Ryan had told them about the normal schedule of cities the circus made after leaving Las Vegas so they could send letters to major cities ahead of time and Jon could pick them up when he arrived. Pete made variations some times, but these were cities they would always travel to, even if it sometimes took them a little longer to get there. 

Mr. Walker tried to give him some money, which he refused, and Mrs. Walker gave him a small bag of food, which he accepted, mostly because she looked a little teary-eyed. Brendon refused to be jealous of Jon because of his awesome family. 

Hitching to Reno wasn’t too bad. The road was open and mostly empty and it only took one travelling salesman to get him there because the guy was on a schedule and didn’t want to stop overnight. But he was staying on in Reno for a few days then heading east, so they parted ways in the city. 

When he visited a diner for lunch, the waitress answered his questions about the travelling carnival that had been through at the beginning of the week, though she hadn’t gone and didn’t know where they were headed. 

Brendon felt it was safest to stick with what Ryan had told the Walkers, and went west toward Sacramento. And, well, that wasn’t the funnest time he’d ever had. He ended up walking more than hitching and went quickly through the food he’d packed—his mother had always said he had a big appetite and Kara had been scornful of the way he could eat so much and stay so little, but walking all day made him even more ravenous. 

It was kind of ridiculous, because the distance between Reno and Sacramento was about a quarter of the distance between Reno and Las Vegas, but no one seemed to want to stop for a dusty kid and those that did weren’t travelling very far. 

He finally reached the city by Sunday and he couldn’t believe it had only been a week since the circus had left Las Vegas. It felt like months that he’d been on the road. He was weak with hunger and had more blisters on his feet than he could count, and he really wanted a nice cool shower and some hot food, but he hadn’t taken very much money from his mother’s jar and he couldn’t be wasteful. 

Instead, he found a nice park that closed at dusk and after the caretaker locked the gate and left for the night he scaled the wall and slept on a park bench, eating the very last of the muffins Mrs. Walker had packed for him. For a while he read the book he’d bought in Reno. It was more than he should have spent, especially when he needed other things more essential to live, but it was really interesting, and made him feel like he was closer to Ryan. 

Lying there, staring up at the sky, stars obscured by the lights of the city, Brendon took a moment to think about what he was actually doing. There wasn’t any going back home now, he knew, and he didn’t want to anyway. But who said things would be better at the circus. Just because they had let Jon join didn’t mean they would let Brendon? And Ryan had let him sleep on his bed because he was drunk, but that didn’t mean that he wanted Brendon hanging around him. Ryan had seemed a little annoyed by Brendon when last he saw him. 

So that was how morning found him, sick with anxiety and so tired, because his thoughts hadn’t been all that conducive to a good night’s sleep. Then he hitched a ride to Chico where someone mentioned the circus was heading toward Redding and one of the farmers was heading up there in the morning. 

It hadn’t been a good year for farming, so Brendon didn’t feel like he was being taken advantage of when the guy said he’d take him for a sawbuck. He even let Brendon sleep in truck cab overnight, which wasn’t exactly like a real bed, but was at least padded and covered, so he wasn’t complaining. 

He read a little more of his book before going to sleep that night, getting to the end of the Major Arcana before he was so tired he couldn’t force his eyes open any longer. He had colourful dreams of sun-drenched days and laughter and Spencer and Jon and Ryan, and when he woke up he couldn’t really remember them, but as he watched the passing scenery along the highway, Redding ever closer, he did so with a sense that he was going home. 

XIX.

Ryan was doing just fine, and as soon as everyone stopped treating him like something damaged, he was going to be better than fine. It was just these stupid cards. There was no reason they should be giving him the same reading over and over. The goddamn two of cups was everywhere, mocking him. Even if they were accurate for him all of the sudden, it didn’t change the fact that what they were telling him could no longer be true. 

They’d left Nevada on Friday and now they were in Northern California, heading toward Oregon, but Pete seemed to think the small town they were in, just outside Redding might be a good place to stay for a few days. Ryan wouldn’t know. He did know he had to start working again. He couldn’t rely on Jon and Spencer for everything, no matter how great they were. 

Still, he wasn’t going to be any good until he figured out what the problem was with his cards, or got a new deck. He hated to do the latter. So much love had gone into these, and they’d been a perfect fit from the first time he’d used them—on Gerard, in thanks for all his help—and seen Frank and had been so happy for Gerard, because he deserved it. 

Ryan had forced himself to consider the possibility that the problem was not with the cards but with him. The cards responded to him, and he had been feeling off lately. He wouldn’t even lie to himself about what had caused it, but Brendon wasn’t even _around_ anymore. The circus had moved on, he would too. 

It was just that Ryan didn’t really _understand_ it. He’d loved people before. He’d loved his parents, abusive as they were. He loved Spencer more than just about anything, and he loved Pete for what they’d given them, and because he understood him. He loved a lot of the people around him because they were unique and interesting and _good_. But he’d never felt the kind of feeling he’d got when he’d heard Brendon play and sing, that he got now thinking of him. 

Ryan knew it didn’t make sense, because he’d barely gotten to know Brendon and besides, Brendon had been a little uptight and a little spastic. Jon was more his type, really, if Ryan would have a type—quiet and sensitive and sweet. But Jon didn’t make Ryan’s spine tingle and make him hurt with longing. 

He felt utterly ridiculous over the whole thing, but it followed him everywhere. When he wrote lyrics he thought about Brendon singing them, and when he played his music he thought about Brendon playing with him, and when he read his cards, he wanted to ask them about Brendon. So, maybe it was in him the fault laid, and not with the cards. 

The flap opened and Ryan said, focussing hard on his cards, “I’m not open for business.” 

“That’s a shame. I’m in desperate need of some guidance.” 

Ryan felt his jaw drop without his permission and shut it with a click before turning to look. But he wasn’t imagining things. Brendon stood there with a sheepish expression on his face and his clothing looking like it had seen better days. He wanted to ask him what he was doing here. He wanted to put his arms around him and hold on. What he said was, “I suppose I can make an exception.” 

Brendon cracked a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He dropped his bag and took the seat across the table. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to pay you.” 

“Brendon,” Ryan said, because he wanted to, needed to, and then he didn’t know how to finish it. He studied Brendon’s face, which looked tired and haggard. “Would you like something to eat?” 

“Later,” Brendon said. He frowned at the cards laid out on the table. “Were you doing a reading for yourself?” 

Ryan nodded. Brendon looked over the spread with a little frown. “Some of these are familiar,” he said. Ryan shouldn’t have been surprised. Brendon had composed a song an hour after picking up the guitar for the first time. He probably picked up everything quickly. 

“This is about change, right?” Brendon asked and Ryan hummed his agreement. “And this one is about stubbornness.” Brendon’s face relaxed into a small smile. 

“The two of cups,” Brendon said, eyes falling on it. “When the moon fell in love with the sun,” Brendon said. “You never told me what it meant.” 

“It.” Ryan trembled, just once, before he got control over himself and took a breath. “The two of cups is basically the Minor Arcana equivalent of the Lovers. It suggests the formation of a passionate and emotional partnership and harmony between two opposites. It says there is someone in your life with whom you can become complete, and through consummation and intimacy, your shared ideas and talents have the potential to become more visible and publicly successful. It’s—”

He stopped, because Brendon reached across the table and put a hand in the hair at that nape of his neck and pulled him close. Ryan had to brace his hands on the tabletop not to fall and he closed his eyes, tilted his head, let Brendon kiss him, so soft it ached. He stopped far too quickly. 

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said, voice hurried and hushed. Ryan blinked his eyes open and Brendon dropped his hand and sat back in his seat. “I’m sorry, please don’t throw me out. I won’t do it again. Can we just sit and talk for a little while? You can read my cards.” 

Ryan vacillated for only a moment before he got up from his seat and went around the table. He put himself in Brendon’s lap, lacing his hands around Brendon’s shoulders. He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes again and pressed his lips to Brendon’s. He wondered if he was going to wake up soon, but Brendon just kissed him back. 

Ryan relaxed, feeling the tension go out of his shoulders, and settled more easily into Brendon’s chest. Brendon kept giving him these soft, quick kisses and they were nice, but then Brendon opened his mouth a little, dragged his teeth over Ryan’s bottom lip and sucked on it and Ryan whimpered and dug his nails into Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon shifted and wrapped his arms around Ryan’s waist and opened his mouth a little, and licked over Ryan’s lips and, oh! Ryan sighed and opened his mouth against Brendon’s. 

He’d seen the others kiss like this and suddenly it made so much sense. Brendon licked into his mouth, and it was so hot and good and he couldn’t help the desperate little sound he made in the back of his throat, couldn’t help the way his legs parted and he struggled in Brendon’s hold so he could be straddling Brendon’s lap. 

“Ryan,” Brendon whispered, and kissed him again, harder. His hands slid up the back of Ryan’s shirt and his touch was hot and tickled his spine. Brendon’s mouth was devouring him, and Ryan was pretty sure that when Brendon was finished there would be anything of him left and he just didn’t care. 

Tentatively, Ryan returned the kisses—a slow slide of his tongue along Brendon’s, his teeth sinking into Brendon’s lip. He let his hands loosen their grip and trailed his fingers lightly up Brendon’s neck, toying in his hair, tracing the whorl of his ear. Brendon trembled and shoved his hips up and Ryan slid his hips down and then—

“OH! Fuck!” Ryan gasped. Brendon laughed a little shakily against Ryan’s lips and Ryan laughed too. Their eyes met and Ryan swivelled his hips down and Brendon’s eyes rolled back and his head dropped, exposing his neck and there was so much bare skin, Ryan had to do something with it. Something that ended up being his teeth rasping over Brendon’s five o’clock shadow, earning a soft sound and Brendon’s arms tight around him. Ryan felt so slender and breakable in Brendon’s strong embrace but he _liked_ it. 

Brendon tipped his head down and caught Ryan’s mouth again and kissing got a little sloppy and messy, but Ryan couldn’t stop dragging his mouth over Brendon’s. He had a hand on Ryan’s neck and a hand on his ass and Ryan’s skirt was taking up a lot of space caught between them but with a little fumbling he had it around his waist and then the only thing between them was his panties and Brendon’s slacks and that didn’t feel like much. He was so hard and Brendon was pressed right up against him, just as hard. 

They rocked together until kissing sort of became panting with their mouths close together, and Brendon grabbed Ryan’s hips and held him against the table and just ground their hips together. Ryan wrapped his legs around Brendon’s waist and felt the hot rush of pleasure curling up in his stomach finally release and he vaguely heard himself making a sound embarrassingly like a sob but he didn’t care, because Brendon pressed his face in Ryan’s hair and groaned Ryan’s name and he came, too. 

Brendon kissed Ryan’s jaw. His hands went soft against Ryan’s hips, soothed up his sides. Ryan made a pleased sound. He was tingling all over and he’d never felt content like this, not with Spencer or anyone, even though his underwear were damp and the curve of the table was cutting into his spine. 

“Maybe I don’t need you to read my cards, after all,” Brendon said. When he spoke his lips tickled against the shell of Ryan’s ear. 

Brendon leaned back in the chair, taking the weight off Ryan. Ryan was boneless and draped himself over Brendon’s shoulders. “Don’t you want to know what the future holds?” Ryan asked sleepily. Maybe they could move to the bed, and somewhere along the way he might want to undress. Maybe. 

“Nah. I saw yours,” Brendon said, tipping his chin toward the cards spread out on the table. “I think that says enough.” Ryan twisted his head to look, too. Suddenly he didn’t hate the two of cups so much, like, at all. 

Brendon bit the same place on Ryan’s jaw that he kept kissing and it was starting to get sore, but he didn’t tell Brendon to stop. He got a secret little smile when he thought about the mark that everyone would see later. Bill would probably never shut up about it. 

It took Ryan a minute of sitting there, staring at the spread of the cards to realise he was happy. Happy in a way he’d never felt before—not the hesitant sort he most often experienced, or the mean, hard-edged happy he got when he made other people feel badly, or even the tense, focused happy he got when he played. He felt light and easy, like everything was just sliding together how it was always meant to be and he wasn’t straining against the world any more. And maybe Bill had been onto something when he’d told Ryan he needed to get laid. 

Brendon hummed something under his breath, the vibrations tickling Ryan’s neck. He kept tracing the shapes on the two of cups. He’d been fascinated with it from the first. Ryan really should have seen this all coming. 

“When the moon fell in love with the sun,” he repeated, but this time he sang it. Then he seemed to run out of words and just kept humming. 

But Ryan had known, somewhere deep, from the moment he’d first heard Brendon sing that Brendon’s voice was meant to be Ryan’s. So he said, “all was golden in the sky, all was golden when the day met the night.” Brendon lifted his gaze from the cards and looked into Ryan’s eyes and Ryan felt exposed, like Brendon was seeing so much more than the hazel of Ryan’s iris. Brendon sang the words back to him. 

Ryan scrambled to his feet, made a face at the sensation of his drying underwear and tugged Brendon up, too. “Change your pants,” he said, gesturing to Brendon’s bag, and hurried to his own chest, looking for a clean pair of underwear and kicking out of his current pair. 

Brendon just watched him for a second, his eyes going dark and that made Ryan just want to leave his underwear off, and maybe take off more of his clothes, too, but this was _important_. “Change,” he said. 

And Brendon did, didn’t question him and Ryan made himself not look, because if he did he was going to get distracted and they were never going to get out of the tent. He grabbed his guitar and Brendon’s hand and dragged him into the sunlight. 

“Where are we going?” Brendon asked. It was early afternoon and there were children running around and screaming, the tamer acts being performed on the stages, Pete barking outside the Ten-in-One. 

“To find Spencer and Jon,” Ryan said. It was all he needed to say. Brendon’s eyes lit up. 

“Think someone will let me borrow a guitar?” Brendon asked.

“I think I’ll make someone let you borrow their guitar, if I have to,” Ryan said, and he knew his grin was fierce and it felt good, and Brendon returned it with one of his own. Fin

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a little thing, like saying, hey, bandom, hi, can I come play, and then it turned into…this…monstrosity.


End file.
